Apocalypse: Wesley's New Beginning
by RobinLady-in-Waiting
Summary: What happens after the final episode of Angel for Wes? What is there to go on for without Fred Burkle? Taking everything he's learned, Wes will start a new life for himself after his death and help a young woman escape her corrupt father. Inspired by a 6th season episode of Highlander TS. Please R&R with kindness as I try to do the same.
1. Chapter 1

Duncan fiddled with keys to the rented, Cadillac sedan. The six foot Scot slid easily behind the wheel of the navy blue, luxury car. He tipped the valet and pulled out of the Roosevelt Hotel parking lot easily. Tourists' cameras flashed across from the historic hotel as they marveled at the Walk of Fame and Grauman's Chinese Theater. Fashion had changed but tourists hadn't. They still tried to see how they compared to John Wayne by sliding their feet into his foot prints and taking a photo to immortalize the event.

In all of Duncan MacLeod's four hundred and ten or so years, he'd seen times change, technology evolve, values change, religions grow and die, as well as numerous, unexplainable phenomena. While staying at the Roosevelt, MacLeod, or "Mac", as his friends called him, heard the bugle he supposed Montgomery Cliff was still playing after more than half a century of rattling around. Mac was glad he'd be leaving in a few days, just as soon as he picked up the Goblet of Temuijn for a buyer in Canada. The antiques business had lured the Immortal back after being away for fifteen years. Duncan liked handling artifacts older than he was and it was an easy explanation for having swords around. He had tried to explain it to Methos, but the idea of an object making someone feel young was lost on the apathetic, sometimes acerbic Immortal.

"Methos, not everyone would have to polish a meteor to feel young." Methos' eyes had widened and his jaw dropped. He threw the soft stress ball he'd been playing with at Duncan. The thought of it made Duncan smile as he cruised down Sunset Blvd.

"Well, excuse me if I predate Methuselah." He shot back, acting mildly offended at the dig. Duncan couldn't wait to get back to his flat in Paris and have a beer at Joe's bar. First he had to find Cousteau's Antiques on Sunset Blvd.

Alain Baudin had been one of Duncan's neighbors in Paris before coming to the United States to run his brother's antiques shop in sunny Los Angeles, California. The Goblet of Temuijin was the second artifact Duncan had bought from the Frenchman but the first to cost three million dollars. The Immortal didn't need the ten percent commission, but he wasn't going to turn it down.

**Scene Break**

"Ah, MacLeod, good to see you again after so long." Alain pumped Duncan's hand warmly. At forty-five, the exuberant man wore his thinning, dark hair in a shaggy, rocker cut. Behind blue tinted glasses Duncan knew there to be bright, quick, blue eyes that summed up ancient artifacts' value quickly.

"Hello, Alain, How are you?" Duncan asked as he looked around at the swank shop glittering with upscale items from Andy Warhol to Van Gogh. Soft overhead lights and mellow pop tunes set the atmosphere for people to spend money.

"No complaints, I am surrounded by beautiful objects and beautiful women with deep purses." The short, thin Frenchman shrugged, with a sly smile on his narrow face.

"I can see." Duncan chuckled. After exchanging pleasantries the two got down to business in a private, back room. Duncan was surprised at how large the Goblet of Temuijin turned out to be when Alain presented it to him. The solid silver vessel sat on a six inch base with a ten inch diameter basin. Glyphs on the side depicted a battle between a warrior on horseback and a dragon. Duncan tried to make out other glyphs carved so small he'd have to use a strong magnifying glass to see them.

"I hope your buyer enjoys the Goblet. It was found in an unmarked grave somewhere in Mongolia." Alain spoke conversationally as Duncan examined the large vessel.

"Must have been a real surprise." Mac grinned, his dark brown eyes full of life and humor.

"Quite a surprise I'm sure." Alain agreed as his tapered hands lowered the heavy goblet into a box, then he filled it with packing peanuts.

"It's been good doing business with you, Alain." Duncan shook the Frenchman's hand and said good-bye in French, his accent flawless. The Frenchman bid him farewell in kind. He was tickled to hear his native tongue again.

**Scene Break **

Memories of pain and of seeing Fred were the last thing Wesley remembered. His love's face had grown dim as blood stained everything around him. For her to be the last thing he saw before death was the only thing he'd wanted. Looking around the room, Wesley wondered where he was; Heaven, Hell or another dimension for his energy to continue into. Seeing Vale's body lying on the marble floor, Wes knew he was still in Los Angeles. What he didn't know was how or why. Blood had dried on his gray turtleneck and his hands as well as the floor. Dumbfounded, the ex-Watcher pulled himself to his feet. Examining where his wound should have been there was only pink, healthy flesh. No trace of that fatal stab wound remained. Outside darkness reigned as demons, vampires, and other spawn of Hell ran amok. Innocent civilians had left hours ago. Now useless, neon signs created colorful reflections on the rain soaked streets. Confused, Wesley headed to the appointed meeting spot, the alley north of the Hyperion Hotel. Only the damaged bodies of demons and broken bricks were left to greet him. Among the dead lay Gunn. His favorite battle ax gleamed in the light of a distant street light. Its chrome hub cap design dripped thick, orange goo. Wesley knelt down and touched the cooling body of the black man who had been both friend and rival as well as betrayer and defender; Charles Gunn.

"Good-bye, old friend." Wesley let a tear fall and mix with the rain that had been falling all night. Taking leave of Gunn and grabbing his ax, Wesley headed for the Hyperion Hotel; Angel's former headquarters. As he walked down the sidewalk a dark sedan pulled up at the end of the street. Suddenly, just like Icee brain freeze, Wes felt the presence of another person. He felt great power and immense energy overwhelm him. The sedan pulled along side as he stood reeling. Quickly, the window rolled down. A deep, European accent shouted, "Get in." The man inside looked to be about Wes' age, with thick, dark brows and a Roman nose. Wesley opened the door and hurled himself inside.

"There's a safe place just down there." Wes pointed toward the Spanish style Hyperion. The stranger hit the gas and bolted into the covered entrance where valets once parked now classic cars for celebrities and wealthy guests.

**Scene Break**


	2. Chapter 2

Angel felt the rain washing over him. The torrent hadn't let up since his team had met in the alley north of the Hyperion. Trying as it might, the rain tried to wash away the blood and gore, but it remained. Gunn had died about an hour into the melee. Spike and Illyria pounded heads beside Angel. The three of them were glad to see Buffy and her band of Slayers-in-training show up. Xander, Willow and Giles joined in the battle as well. Angel half expected to see Cordelia among the white knights. There were too many of the good guys missing to suit the eternal hero.

As Angel battled a hell hound a bouncy blonde came up on his right. He knew who it was from her fighting stance and powerful, kick boxing moves.

"Thought you might like a little help." She shouted, a battle ax and a dagger flashing as she attacked the hell hound.

"A little? It looks like you brought the whole Seventh Cavalry, Buffy." Angel responded as he slit the demon's throat.

"A girl likes to have her accessories, besides, it looks like you have some back-up yourself." The Slayer retorted, wiping her dagger on her black jeans. She and Angel took a breath while they could, before the next demon attacked.

"So, how've you been?" Buffy asked nonchalantly, her brown eyes scanning the roof tops before meeting Angel's.

"Been better, you?" He said.

"Still fighting the good fight." She answered vaguely. "Where's Wesley?" Buffy threw a wooden stake at a vampire coming up on Angel's flank.

"He didn't make it." Angle couldn't look at Buffy and answer too. Buffy and Wes had had a less than ideal relationship, but they both fought for the greater good.

"Sorry to hear it." With that, they had to return to battle. Always the battle.

**Scene Break**

"You're telling me that I can only permanently die if my head is severed." Wesley frowned, his thoughts moving around his brain like loose marbles.

"Yes, then the power of the Quickening is taken by the winner, all your knowledge and history are absorbed." Duncan said, his soulful eyes studying the new immortal. Wesley shook his head as if to make the puzzle pieces fit.

"Everything else is nearly invincible." The demon hunter thought about how handy that would be, to be nearly impervious. The thought was gone in the blink of an eye. A thousand other questions took its place.

"What do those who find themselves in this situation usually do?" Wes finally asked, leaning against the registration counter.

"New Immortals are taken on by teachers; someone who trains them in the way of the sword." Duncan leaned forward on the pale teal seat. He'd been looking for a way out of LA all night. He'd seen and experienced more than most Immortals, but seeing demons as brazen as street walkers was new to the old Scot.

"What about the people closest to them?" Wesley looked around the room. Memories walked around the lobby like the specter of Marley's ghost.

"That depends on you, Wesley. The ones you love will grow old and die while you remain unchanged. Its not fair to them, seeing you young and strong while they wither away." The older Immortal had seen it too many times. Wesley thought about everyone who meant anything to him, Angel, Fred, Gunn, Cordelia, his parents. There wasn't anyone to turn back to. The love of his life had died in his arms, replaced by a soulless, ancient, warrior-goddess. At least Fred would live forever in his memory. She would always be the funny, smart, loveable Winifred Burkle he had grown to love. Had she lived, Wesley would have lost her anyway, eventually. He took some small comfort in that.

"I suppose the sooner I leave the city the better." There was very little Wes wanted to take with him.

"From the looks of it, yes." Duncan agreed.

Wesley found the sketch book Angel had kept in his desk. The darkened office still smelled like old, leather tomes and incense. All the Angel Investigations files, books and belongings were still as they had left them a year ago. Flipping idly through Angel's sketches, Wes found pictures of all of the gang; Cordelia, Connor, Fred, Gunn, Gwen, himself, and even Lila and Lindsey. It explained a lot as to what Angel did while he brooded. The sketches were of the highest, near photographic quality. Wesley took the book and found a few other items he didn't want to leave behind. Not wanting to wear his torn, bloody turtleneck, he rummaged around until he found one of Lorne's dress shirts. Somehow, it still smelled like Aqua Velva.

Twenty minutes later Wesley had a few changes of clothes, the sketch book and some money rounded up. With mixed emotion the ex-Watcher and rogue demon hunter turned Immortal left the Hyperion Hotel, Angel Investigations, Wolfram and Hart, and his mortal life behind. Nothing would ever be the same.

**Scene Break**

As daylight came creeping over the steel and glass horizon Duncan drove the rented Caddy out of LA and headed north along 110 toward Canada. Smoke and fumes rose out of the destruction. Wes could only imagine the number of lives lost to the creatures Hell had let loose on the City of Angels. Even his own had been taken. A pang of guilt hit him as he left the city limits. There was still a battle to be fought. It was a fight that Wes had no heart to continue any longer.

The two Immortals were quiet most of the drive through California. Wesley took over when they hit the Washington state line. Duncan directed him to the buyer's palatial estate in Vancouver. From the winding road of a gated community the pair saw a fairytale mansion on the bench of a gently sloping hill. Beautifully fall clad trees surrounded the perfectly manicured lawn down to the cast iron gate barring invaders. A guard stopped the navy blue Caddy. The hired muscle wore a baseball cap pulled low over his face. Wesley guessed he'd once been a football player from his build.

"Mr. Callabari is expecting me, Duncan MacLeod." Mac introduced him self. After talking into the radio strapped to his shoulder the guard waved them through the gate.

"Does the antiques business always bring you to such lofty residences?" Wesley asked, his eyes wide in wonder at the white stone mansion glittering in the afternoon sun. Each of the nearly one hundred windows reflected reds and yellows, seeming to reflect the warm glow from within.

"No, not usually. Callabari is an exception." Duncan answered, his dark eyes glued to the exquisite mansion ahead.

A butler showed Duncan and Wes to a library in the east wing of the house. Duncan carried the Goblet of Temujin in its box under one arm. Wesley's fingers itched to touch the huge collection of books neatly arranged in shelves built floor to ceiling along three walls. There was a needling yen that Watchers had for libraries. Heavy walnut furniture and Italian leather sofas made the twenty by twenty foot room feel inviting. As Duncan and Wes stood waiting, looking at their sumptuous surroundings, a young woman in her mid-twenties slipped in through a concealed door. Duncan felt her arrive before he saw her; an Immortal yet to be. Wesley felt it too, but couldn't place it.

"Hello, gentlemen." Her alto voice rang out, as did her beautiful smile. "I apologize that Father wasn't able to be here, I'm Rebecca Callabari." The cheerful, girl-next-door crossed the room to shake hands. She moved gracefully in her blue jeans, plum colored turtleneck and black, fitted blazer.

"I am Duncan MacLeod." he shook her hand quickly before she turned to Wesley.

"Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, pleased to meet you." he gazed for a moment at Rebecca's crystalline green eyes.

"That's an awfully old name for a young man." Rebecca commented, blushing as Wes let go of her hand he'd been holding. He looked at his loafers for a second before responding.

"You know how the British like tradition." He stated, not seeing Duncan shake his head in full agreement.

"I have the paper work Father left for you, Mr. MacLeod" Rebecca pulled herself back to the business at hand. Nervous, she tucked a stray strand of her chestnut brown hair behind her ear as she walked to the massive, walnut desk at the far end of the library. Sunlight from the front of the house didn't reach the desk so Rebecca switched on a green globed desk lamp and after a moment handed Duncan a manila envelope with his name on it. Miss Callabari took the box from the Scot and opened it carefully to take a peak. Satisfied, she smiled.

"Daniel has lunch waiting for us, if you'd care to stay." The young lady offered, looking from the handsome Scot to the scruffy Brit.

"Lunch sounds lovely." Wesley spoke. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until then.

"Wonderful, if you'll follow me." Rebecca led them through the entry with its marble floor and chandelier.

"You have an impressive home." Duncan remarked, stopping to look at a metal sculpture of King David in the center of the foyer.

"Thank you, my father has lived in this house all his life, just like all the Callabari family since the 1840's." Rebecca turned too quickly, bumping into Wesley. She blushed again, her green eyes fringed by dark, long lashes.

"I'm so clumsy." She stepped back, her gaze lingering on Wesley.

"It's my fault really." He apologized. Wes noted how her perfume smelled faintly of lilac.

"The greenhouse is just through here." Turning, Rebecca began leading the way across a formal dining room.

"I like to have lunch out here when the weather is nice." She showed them into a cozy greenhouse set with a wicker table and chairs. Mums and marigolds lined the half glass enclosure. The smell of wonderfully prepared salmon urged them onward. The butler, Daniel, waited on his mistress and her company with great care. He seated Rebecca before pouring wine for the gentlemen.

"I was excited to see that Father bought the goblet. I'm anxious to study the glyphs." Rebecca gushed, sure she was boring the two gentlemen to no end as they ate baked salmon and drank California white wine.

"As I understand Temujin was one of the names given to Genghis Khan." The new Immortal recalled.

"Yes, it is, the great Khan was supposed to have been born grasping a blood clot, a sign of a great leader." Rebecca's eyes lit up as she talked.

"Rather gruesome, if you think about it." Wes wrinkled his nose. Everyone laughed. The conversation revolved around the history of the goblet. Wesley enjoyed talking to Rebecca. Her enthusiasm was refreshing. It reminded him of when Fred would nearly burst at the seams as she talked about quantum physics or dimensional rifts. All the happiness left Wesley at the thought of Fred. He wondered what century he'd be in before everything stopped reminding him of Winifred Burkle.

"Well, Mr. MacLeod, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, I'm glad to have met you both. If you have any more artifacts from Mongolia, please let me know." Rebecca walked them to the entrance as they left.

"Please, feel free to call me Wesley." He detested being called by his father's name.

"Alright, Wesley." The young lady smiled up at the scruffy Brit for a brief moment. Their eyes locked and time slowed down. Her tongue lingered over his name. Rebecca handed Duncan one of her father's business cards. On the back of a second one she'd written her private number and slipped it to Wesley. The eager, young woman smiled as she watched Wesley and Duncan drive away.

**Scene Break**

"She gave you her phone number, didn't she." Duncan stated, a sly grin on his already devilishly handsome face.

"Yes she did." Wes pulled the card out of the pocket of his suede jacket and looked at it.

**_555-7969 ~ Rebecca _ **Her handwriting was large and clear. Wes wondered what he should do with the slip of card stock.

"I can't lead her on, let her get her hopes up." He turned it over to look at Rebecca's family business logo; Callabari Shipping. An outline drawing of a lighthouse took up one corner.

"Its your choice, but you get the rare opportunity to start fresh." Duncan reminded him as the guard waved them out.

"Immortal or not, there's still someone I care for. Forgetting her may indeed take forever." Wes stared out the window at the city, his chin propped up on his hand. Duncan knew exactly how Wesley felt. Every year he laid flowers at a solitary headstone in Paris. Wesley tucked the business card into his pocket and continued to stare out the window.

**Scene Break**

"I hope you like French food, our destination is Paris." Duncan flashed two tickets as he walked back from the ticket counter.

"I will repay you, Duncan." Wes promised. MacLeod waved it away. The pair boarded a plane with very little luggage. All Wesley had to do was show his Wolfram and Hart credentials in lieu of a passport. The next half day was spent cramped up in business class seating. Somehow, Wesley fell asleep.

"Wesley, wake up." Duncan shook him awake, out of a dream. After an hour of trying to make their way out of the airport they were by a leggy blonde holding a poster board sign: _MacLeod and Company._ It didn't take hearing her for Wesley to sense the lady Immortal. Her presence was stronger and more overwhelming than Duncan's. The Brit's jaw nearly dropped as he took her in. Between the sky high gladiator heels, barely there miniskirt and pearl gray, silk blouse she was a sight to behold.

"Duncan, over here." Her happy voice rang out in the din of the cavernous airport. A bright, wide smile only added to her beauty.

"Hey there big guy." The striking beauty launched herself at Duncan. Wesley stood silently by as they embraced. Duncan pulled away, or more like peeled away, his lady friend. He looked mildly embarrassed.

"Amanda, this is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce." She looked from Duncan to the new comer.

"A pleasure." Wesley shook Amanda's hand gently, nodding formally. Amanda shot Duncan an approving glance.

"I am famished, when's the last time you two ate?" The lady Immortal asked.

"Plane food a few hours ago." Duncan answered, leading the way toward baggage claim. Amanda drove through the streets of the ancient city with ease, talking the whole way.

"Where are we going anyway?" Duncan finally asked as he braced himself for her roller coaster driving.

"Joe's, of course." Exasperated, Amanda rolled her eyes.

**Scene Break**


	3. Chapter 3

"Angel, we haven't found Wesley's body anywhere in the city." Faith announced, striding into the hotel, a frown drawing her dark brows together. Her damp, loose curls fell over her wet, denim jacket. Three days and the rain hadn't let up. Angel was beginning to feel like Noah.

"We've got other pressing matters." The brooding hero sighed heavily as he stood at the weapons cabinet, wondering at Gunn's battle ax. How had it gotten from the alley to inside the weapons cabinet? Angel just didn't have time to puzzle over it right then.

"No sign of Wesley's body on the south side either." Connor reported, walking through the lobby.

"Hey, Kid, you look like a drowned rat." Faith nodded, her hands in her hip pockets and her jacket thrown over the counter. Connor just smirked. His light hair was plastered to his head and his clothes were muddy.

"Until we get the rest of the city under control Wesley's body will have to wait." Angel turned to look at his son and Faith. He wasn't blind to the chemistry growing between them. As a father he wanted to be though.

"No prob, Boss." Faith shrugged.

"I managed to get the power back on in the down town area." Gwen sauntered in from the back, hips rolling like waves before a hurricane. Her every move was designed to attract attention and intimidate at the same time.

"One point for the good guys." Faith added as she leaned against the registration desk.

"Has anyone else reported in lately?" Angel asked as he replaced a broken sword. Wes had always been good at managing group projects. Keeping track of the gang was never his forte.

"Present and accounted for." Willow piped up from the office door. Her long, red locks framed her face as she picked at the bottom button of her Christmas green tunic.

"I've managed to clean up the kitchen. Everyone's down there, eating, or drinking, in Spike's case." Willow smiled, pleased with herself. Angel breathed a silent sigh of relief. He shoved his thoughts of Wes aside and followed the young people down to the kitchen.

**Scene Break**

A digital jukebox played a song by Louis Armstrong as Joe sat at one end of the bar trying to balance the bar's accounts. The _'shave and a haircut two bits_' knock at the door could only be Mac. Glad for the distraction Joe shoved himself up to answer.

"Mac, Amanda, good to see you." Joe grinned, his salt and pepper beard revealing the silver fox's easy humor.

"Joe, this is Wesley." Duncan introduced the Immortal Watcher to the ex-Slayer Watcher.

"Glad to meet you, Wesley. Make yourself at home." Joe ushered them into the empty bar.

"We can't stay long, Joe, we just came to raid the ice box." Amanda walked on into the dimly lit blues bar.

"I think the cook left some chilli in the back." Joe returned to his seat slowly, his stiff legs hampering his progress.

"Come on, Wes, let's rustle up some grub." Amanda pulled him toward the industrial, stainless steel kitchen.

"Joe, how have you been?" Duncan asked, taking a seat behind the bar.

"Between keeping an eye on you and this bar," He paused, "I've never been better." Sarcasm dripped from the fifty-five year old veteran.

"Who's your company, Mac?" Joe asked, closing the account books.

"A new Immortal. I found him in L.A three days ago." Duncan grabbed a mug and poured himself a beer.

"How is he taking it?" Joe motioned for Duncan to pour him one as well.

"Don't know yet. I've seen new Immortals dozens of times, Wesley wasn't phased by it. There's more than meets the eye to him. When I found him, he was carrying a battle ax made from a chrome hub cap." Duncan was still puzzling over that one.

"Have you asked him about it?" Joe wondered. The old Watcher preferred the direct approach.

"No, not yet." Duncan gave him a guilty frown and sipped his beer.

"He'll need a Watcher assigned to him. Does Wesley know about us yet?" Joe asked.

"No, I haven't told him." Mac answered.

"As if Wesley isn't enough, the customer I was picking the Goblet of Temujin up for has a daughter, Rebecca Callabari, who is a pre-Immortal. Two in as many days." Joe let out a surprised whistle.

"Damn, MacLeod." The Watcher shook his head.

"Wesley felt it, but he did not know what it was." Mac continued, feeling the burden of knowing.

"Are you going to tell him?" Joe asked, wondering what he was going to do with the information himself. He couldn't very well tell the Watchers or he'd have to explain how he come to know about Rebecca Callabari.

"No, I'm not going to tell Wesley. The girl fell over herself flirting with him. How can I tell him that she's going to die one day and that she won't stay that way?" Duncan sighed as he sat behind the bar sipping his beer.

"Glad I'm not you." Joe smiled. Duncan gave him a mocking smirk.

"Lunch is served, ta da." Amanda brought a tray of chilli and grilled cheese sandwiches in to the bar. All was quiet as the three Immortals and Joe ate lunch.

"Michael, my new chef, is a graduate of the Cordon Bleu in Paris and he wants to make chilli, meatloaf and chicken with dumplings." Joe shook his head, mystified by it as he sat down with his second bowl.

"Let him, this is good." Amanda chipped in. Her tastes usually ran toward fine cuisine, but good was good, no denying.

"This is wonderful. It reminds me of Texas chilli." Wes spoke for the first time all afternoon.

"What would a Brit know about Texas chilli?" Thought Joe to himself.

"You seem well traveled, Wesley, what drew you to L.A?" Amanda asked as if she'd read Joe's mind.

"My employers sent me to a post in a small town north of the city several years ago." Wes explained, purposely being vague.

"Angel Investigations or Wolfram and Hart?" Duncan picked up the nosey thread of the conversation.

"Neither actually." Wes spoke, sitting up straighter in his chair. His blue eyes scanned the room.

"Wolfram and Hart, the law firm?" Amanda asked, surprised. None of what she'd heard about them sounded good.

"One and the same." An inward groan of regret stayed silent as Wes tried to figure out how to extract himself from this line of questioning.

"They're an odd group, almost Stepford." The lady Immortal continued.

"You have no idea. The original Stepford movie was based on a real story out of California." Wesley got caught up, his big brain taking over. He could recount trivia that would have made their heads spin, literally and figuratively.

"Wolfram and Hart was a technical consultant on the movie." he finished.

"I've done a few... contract jobs for the firm in the past. They've been around since the 1760's." Amanda chose her words.

"Wolfram and Hart have always been around, in some fashion, I assure you." The new Immortal

let a wry grin creep across his stubbled face.

"Well, I'm tired, I'm sure Wesley is too, so I think we'll head to the apartment." Duncan stood up to leave. Amanda and Wesley followed, leaving Joe to his account books.

**Scene Break**

Wesley dropped his duffel bag by the door of the large, open flat. Looking around he saw a tastefully decorated apartment. A fireplace lay cold on the opposite side of the spacious flat. It was where he was to spend the next few months training and working at Duncan's antique shop. It was a different life, one less complicated than ever before. It was also lonely. As the months passed Wesley grew quieter and drew inward. Winter in Paris suited his dreary mood perfectly.

**Scene Break**

Angel sat with a cup of blood in one hand and a book in the other. He'd been looking for an incantation to track Wesley's body since he'd disappeared. As ever, L.A was warm, sunny and seemingly picture perfect. Like a gilded cage whose first appearance is beautiful, but upon closer examination, the City of Angles was cheap and corrupt under the glittering facade. Connor had dropped out of college, after it had shut down due to the Apocalypse. Lorne was no where to be found. Buffy and her Slayers had moved off as soon as the city was calm enough for civilians to return, Xander, Giles, and Willow following suit. Faith, Illyria and Spike had stayed on to help Angel hold down the fort. Gwen made appearances from time to time to help, when it suited her. Even so, the gang just wasn't the same. There wasn't a heart to it anymore. Still, Angel felt better about his position in the universe. Cordelia was keeping watch over him and he knew it.

Angel placed a silk ribbon in the book and laid it on the desk. Frustrated, he massaged the bridge of his nose. The vampire with a soul felt like hitting something. He was still puzzling over how Gunn's ax had ended up back at the hotel.

"Hey, Angel, we're going out for pizza, want anything?" Faith tapped quickly before walking into the dark office. Connor followed close on her heels. The Slayer sat down on the corner of the desk, her boots kicking lightly against the wood.

"Just be careful out there." Angel warned. Connor strolled into the office. His ocean blue eyes met Angel's dark ones for a moment. Angel had kept his piece to himself about Connor and Faith. Things for Connor had gotten better. He was on an even keel emotionally now. Angel knew the fire that the boy could pack though and the gasoline that Faith could add to it.

"No prob, Boss, just going for meat lovers pizza." Faith hopped up, ready to go.

"Anchovies." Connor insisted as he walked out behind her.

"No way am I eating fish on a pizza, Kid." Faith informed him. It was quiet around the hotel for the time being. Illyria was on patrol and Gwen was probably planning a jewel theft or art heist.

"Nice how the kiddies are gettin along these days, aint it?" Spike came skulking in to the office.

"Yes, it is." Angel agreed, knowing pretty well where Spike was going with it.

"Those Sunnydale girls have a way of getting to a fella, down to his bones, don't they." The platinum blonde vampire made himself comfortable in the chair across from Angel's desk. The older vampire chaffed at the very sight of Spike. He was a reminder of everything that Angel had been and done, walking around in his leather duster and ratty boots.

"You have a reason for being here instead of on patrol, Spike?" Angel chewed on the inside of his lip as he sat wishing the other vamp would leave.

"Just came back from a lovely stroll around the block actually, thought I'd pop in and pester you a bit." Spike said smugly.

"Go for another one then." Angel wasn't in the mood for one of Spike's revelations on love.

"Don't take your parental woes out on me, big guy. Your little progeny there is a mess of hormones and he's just waitin for the green light to jump the Slayer's bones. You and I can both smell it." A growl rose up from Angel's core, but he held it down.

"There's a point in this somewhere, isn't there, Spike?" Angel spoke through gritted teeth. He really regretted letting Drucilla sire Spike. Now he was stuck with him like a bad tattoo.

"Just sayin Mate, your pup's got it bad for the Slayer, and I'm wonderin what your going to do about it." Spike delighted in the hateful glare that Angel sent his way.

"Don't you have an appointment with a peroxide bottle, Spike?" Angel sighed and took a drink of his blood. It was a valid question that Angel wasn't going to admit was a valid question. Of the two, Angel had spent more time with Faith than he had his own son. He just wanted to strangle Spike, for the hell of it. **Scene Break**


	4. Chapter 4

Spring gave the first indication of being nearby but Wesley still hadn't come out of his funk. Flowers bloomed and the world began to become green again. One day in March, water hitting the roof and streaming down the window like tears, Rebecca walked into Duncan's antiques shop. Her chestnut locks framed her high cheek boned face. Green eyes and rosy lips both smiled like a fresh, spring breeze.

"Hello, or should I say, bon jour." The multimillionaire's daughter stepped inside the shop. Wesley nearly dropped the clip board he held. Duncan's inventory lay forgotten.

"Hello, Rebecca, what a surprise to see you." Wes laid the clip board down and went to help her off with her trench coat and umbrella.

"A good surprise I hope." She let him take her coat and umbrella while she looked around the small shop. Tepidly she walked farther in, her magenta dress and wide black belt a bright spot among the ancient treasures around her. It hugged every curve just right. Her tall, black dress boots made her long legs look even longer as she walked up to a display case.

"A pleasant surprise, yes, of course." Wes felt like a school boy talking to the pretty, young teacher. He put his hands in his kaki pockets to hide them.

"I was in Paris with Father and thought I would see what Mr. MacLeod had to offer in the way of antiques." The young lady blushed ever so slightly.

"Duncan isn't here at the moment, but I would love to help, if I can." Wesley motioned to the dozen display cases scattered throughout the shop. One display lead to another until they'd talked for over an hour. Wesley felt Duncan's presence a minute before the bell above the door rang.

It wasn't unusual for Duncan to feel the presence of another Immortal at the shop since Wesley was manning the front desk, so Duncan didn't notice that there were two presences when he walked in.

"Duncan, I was just showing Rebecca these ivory figurines." Wes nearly tripped over his own feet.

"They are exquisite, I especially like the young country girl." Rebecca pointed to one of the less than ten inch high figure carrying a child on her back.

"Shall I wrap it up for you?" Wesley asked, his heart pounding. Rebecca brushed a strand of hair out of her green eyes before answering.

"Yes, I'll take it." Her dark lashes framed the most wonderful, peridot green eyes. Duncan laid down the mail and packages he carried as Wesley took the figurine out of the locked, glass case. Rebecca milled around the show room floor waiting.

"Why don't you take her to lunch?" Duncan spoke low, hoping Wes took his suggestion.

"She wouldn't... I couldn't..." the Brit's voice trailed.

"Rebecca does and you should." Duncan prodded. After a deep breath Wesley took her the small box and accepted the check she'd written for the figurine.

"I would very much like to take you to lunch." Wes stumbled through it better than he'd anticipated.

"Thank you, yes." She agreed, a broad smile on her oval face. Duncan watched as Wes helped Rebecca on with her jacket and grabbed his own.

Wesley walked beside Rebecca along the street of the sprawling city. They continued to talk as people strode by, unaware of anything but their own errands and destinations. He lead her to a small, sidewalk cafe that he'd found recently. They served wonderful food and it was quiet enough to have a conversation.

"Have you been to Paris before?" Wes pulled out a chair for Rebecca. The weather had cleared and the sun was shining weakly.

"Yes, once or twice, before college." Rebecca answered, playing with the salad fork of her place setting.

"This is the first time I've lived outside the United States or Great Britain. It's quite an experience." Wes reflected. Paris was so peaceful compared to L.A; almost dull.

"Father travels around the world on business. He's taken me to Tokyo, Moscow and New York." Rebecca was glad to see the waiter bring their lunch. She didn't want to talk about her father and his business. When the waiter mixed up their drink order it broke the tension. Wes and Rebecca laughed.

After a leisurely lunch Wesley took Rebecca to see the Eiffel Tower. They walked all the way around it, waiting to go to the top.

"Isn't it beautiful!" The young lady exclaimed as they stood along the walk way looking over Paris. Wes took the city in for the first time. He felt small, looking out at a city older than he ever dreamed of being. Rebecca stood beside him. When he felt her slip her hand into his. The warmth of that small act felt amazing. When Wes turned to look at her, Rebecca was looking back at him. Everything in his head told him to back away and let her go. She was at least ten years younger, he would eventually out live her, and a thousand other things his brain insisted on telling him. But wasn't Rebecca beautiful and wasn't she looking up at him?

"In deed, it is gorgeous." Wesley squeezed her hand and smiled. Hand in hand, the pair wandered around Paris until the sun set. Like an old world knight, Wesley kissed Rebecca's hand as he walked her to her door at sunset. He just had to made sure Rebecca was safely back at her hotel before dark. Some old habits die hard. She giggled and opened her hotel room door. Walking away, Rebecca winked at Wesley.

"Good night, Wesley." She spoke softly, her long fingers waving at him.

"Good night, Rebecca, stay safe." Wes answered, feeling a pang of regret to be leaving her so soon.

**Scene Break **

Joe's bar was packed to capacity when Wesley arrived. Good music and abundant conversation made the place so noisy Wes could barely order his drink. All around the laid back bar were people with so much life. Wes felt a little life creeping back into him. How long had it been since he'd breathed free air? Almost ten years. Wes felt the presence of another Immortal from amongst the crowd. Instinctively, he looked around toward the door.

"Wesley, hello." Methos pushed his way to the bar where Wes stood sipping beer.

"Adam, hello there." Wes relaxed, calling the eldest Immortal by his pseudonym.

"I didn't expect to see you here, I just spoke to MacLeod, he said you were out with a young woman. Methos gave him a congratulatory salute with his pint.

"Yes, yes I was, Rebecca Callabari." Wes smiled slowly.

"I heard the two of you took quite a fancy to one another." Methos' eyes took on a mischievous twinkle. Wes gave him a diffident look before taking a drink.

"She's a remarkable, young woman." The youngest Immortal watched the light amber liquid settle to the bottom of his mug.

"And I'm guessing there are a million reasons running through your mind why you should let her go." Methos' voice took on a sad note. Wesley frowned into his beer, a far away look in his eyes.

"More than a million really." Wes answered slowly. His heart tightened in his chest. Why couldn't the pessimistic Immortal leave him to feel what little joy he'd stolen for the night?

"The first one is always the hardest." Methos took a long draught of his mug. Wes pulled out his wallet and took out a picture. The girl Methos saw had big, chocolate brown eyes, a long pony tail and a warm smile. Her intelligent, innocent expression was very attractive.

"She's beautiful, someone you left behind?" Methos handed the photo back.

"She left me behind to be more precise." A sad fact; Winifred Burkle was gone.

"Sorry, Wesley." Methos took a drink just to have something to fill the awkward silence.

"Fred was the kind of girl you don't live long enough to forget, not even you and me." Wes' expression was pained and bitter. He finished his beer and ordered a whiskey to chase it down. After Wes' fourth whiskey Methos decided to cut him off.

"There's no need to drink her away tonight, I think coffee and a meal are in order." The older Immortal waved the bartender off on Wes' fifth drink. The younger Immortal shook his fogging head no, but he let Methos pull him outside and into a taxi.

"The worst part is, I was there, holding Fred, when she died. She was always so brave." Tears began to form in Wesley's stormy eyes. The ancient Immortal claiming responsibility for him sighed heavily. As midnight drew near Methos helped Wesley to his small apartment down the street from Duncan's shop. He left him sitting in the dark looking through a worn sketch book, a cup of coffee on the end table and a sandwich in his other hand.

**Scene Break**

Cliff Callabari watched his daughter walk out of the hotel room and down the hall. She had a certain bounce in her step that he was sure hadn't been there before. The businessman wanted to know what was behind the sudden flourishing of his late blooming daughter.

"Rebecca, you're out early." Cliff quickened his step to catch up to her.

"Hello, Father, I was just going to breakfast, want to join me?" Rebecca turned around in the middle of the hall, her chestnut locks bouncing as she moved. The light in her green eyes was brighter than the noon sun.

"I'd love to." He extended his arm for her to take as they walked toward the elevator. Plush, powder blue carpet lined the wide halls of the four star hotel. Fluted sconces dotted the cream and olive green striped walls, their frosted glass making the light seem warmer. Together Callabari and his daughter ambled to the formal dining room on the first level of the hotel. A few early risers were already there, seated and enjoying gourmet dishes with their coffee and orange juice. A young waiter escorted them to a table and presented them with a menu before taking their drink orders. Rebecca ordered quickly. Cliff took his time, trying to decide how to approach the subject of the change in his daughter. After a few moments he gave the young man his order and then sat back as Rebecca sat there. She smiled absently, looking out the window at the spring sunshine.

"What's on your mind, Father?" She asked, wondering why he was looking at her so strangely.

"You are, Dear. I noticed how radiant you are this morning and I was wondering why?" Cliff Callabari was well aware of his daughter's every movement.

"I guess I'm just happy to be in Paris." She picked up the salad fork and began toying with it.

"Is it the city of Paris, or who's in Paris?" Callabari's dark eyes took on a serious glint as he studied her. She'd been talking of nothing else since he'd bought the Goblet.

"Yes, there is someone here in Paris that makes the city a little brighter. Do you remember I told you about Mr. MacLeod's associate, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce?" Rebecca took a deep breath to steady herself.

"Yes, I remember. What about him?" Callabari made a mental note to have Wesley Wyndam-Pryce's background checked then and there.

"I found Mr. MacLeod's shop yesterday and Wesley asked me to lunch. We walked around the city, saw the Eiffel Tower and had an amazing afternoon. I plan on seeing him again today." Rebecca smiled, a dreamy, distant look on her lovely face.

"How much do you know about this Wesley Wyndam-Pryce?" Callabari didn't like this at all.

"Not much really, he's from the U.K, he's lived in the United States and recently moved to Paris." Alarms began to go off in Rebecca's mind, but not about Wes. They were going off because she knew how ruthless her father could be. He'd always been a shrewd businessman who'd used his competition's weakness to his advantage. Rebecca suspected that he sometimes created these weaknesses to exploit them.

"Seeing him again is not a good idea, Rebecca," Callabari paused, waiting for the waiter to pour coffee from a stainless steel decanter and then leave. "At least until we know more about him and his associates."

"Father, the whole point of seeing someone is to get to know more about them. I'd like to have that chance. My heart tells me to trust Wesley." She gripped the salad fork until it bent from the pressure.

"This is not up for discussion, Rebecca. Do not see Wesley Wyndam-Pryce." Cliff's deep voice rolled like heavy waves on the shore.

"I will see him if I so please, Father. You have no right to dictate my friends." Shaking, Rebecca held back the tears that were bound to fall eventually.

"I will not have you waste your time on a nothing flunky, Rebecca. You owe what you have and what you are to me, never forget that. I found you, you and your mother. Without me you are nothing." Callabari's eyes glinted dangerously.

"How could I forget, Father, Mom went to her grave to get away from you." Rebecca spat venomously, her words forced through clenched teeth.

"And you will go to yours before I'll let you go against me." Callabari intoned. His hands balled into fists as he sat across from Rebecca. Shaking, she got up to leave the dining room. All the dealings and questionable associates that Callabari had crossed Rebecca's mind. She had to see Wesley, she had to warn him. Nothing had ever come between Callabari and his daughter and he wasn't about to let Wesley Wyndam-Pryce come between them now.

**Scene Break**


	5. Chapter 5

"Duncan there was a phone call from Alain Baudain while you were out yesterday. He said he had a customer looking for one of the ivory figurines we have." Wesley gave Duncan the phone message he'd taken down. The antique shop's small office resembled a monk's cell, with it's Spartan desk and gray, brick walls. A reproduction tapestry of a medieval battle hung behind the oak desk.

"Which one is the customer interested in?" The Scot wondered as he polished a gauntlet from a suit of armor. Intricate designs had been carved into every piece of the metal encasement. Lions reared up on the coat of arms that covered the breast plate and back plate. Wes smelled the WD40 that Duncan used to keep the rust at bay.

"Mr. Baudain said the customer wanted the statue of Hotei, the Shinto god of happiness." The portly, little fellow was worth sixteen thousand dollars on the legitimate market. As Wesley and Duncan discussed the figure the front door bell jangled. It was early, before most customers had gotten out for the day.

"I'll go see who that is." Wes walked out of the office. At first the fluorescently lit shop seemed empty.

"Hello." Wes spoke, wondering if it was another Immortal he hadn't felt or if he'd heard wrong.

"Wesley." Rebecca's voice came out of the shadow created by the blind on the door.

"Oh, Rebecca, I hadn't expected you this early today. I'm sorry for not calling, but it was well after midnight before I arrived at my apartment." Wes began to talk before he took a good look at the young woman standing before him. Rebecca's green eyes were wet with tears and she was shaking.

"What's happened?" He rushed across the room to her, his heart in his throat.

"My father, we had an argument this morning." She stifled a sob with the back of her hand. "Are you alright?" Wes pushed a strand of her hair away from Rebecca's tear stained face.

"I'm fine, I guess." She wiped the flowing tears, smearing her mascara across her face and hand. Wesley pulled out a clean handkerchief for her and lead her to the counter and sat her down.

"Father told me that I wasn't to see you anymore. I stormed out. We've never had a fight like that before." She looked at the hardwood floor, fresh tears spilling like a waterfall. Wesley felt responsible for her pain. Gently, he pulled her against him. Rebecca's warm breath tickled his neck as she sobbed into his shoulder.

"Wesley, my father is a very ruthless man, I'm afraid he'll come after you." Her voice trembled as she pulled away from him.

"Rebecca, don't worry about me." He smiled, but it didn't reach his oceanic blue eyes.

**Scene Break**

Cliff Callabari brushed crumbs from his neatly trimmed vandyke beard. The stocky businessman sat waiting at the table where his daughter had stormed off earlier that morning. Callabari waited for her to come to her senses or for a less than reputable associate of his to arrive. His steel, gray-blue eyes scanned the doorway every few moments looking to see which would happen first.

"Mr. Callabari." The man's voice came from slightly behind Cliff Callabari. It sounded like tin being dragged over a gravel road. Callabari was surprised that it was an American accent greeting him.

"Mr. Henderson, have a seat." Callabari looked the hired muscle over thoroughly. Henderson was younger than expected, with a dark, buzz cut and a narrow face. Callabari didn't like the bemused look in the younger man's dark eyes.

"We spoke over the phone about someone you wanted information on, a Wesley Wyndam-Pryce." Henderson sat back in the chair and crossed his long legs as a waiter poured coffee for him. "Yes, have you got the information yet?" Callabari waved the waiter away from his own half empty coffee cup.

"Came straight over with it." Henderson pushed a file across the table to the haughty looking businessman seated across from him.

Name: Wesley James Wyndam-Pryce

Born: Feb 2, 1966 London, England

Parents: Roger and Ellen Wyndam-Pryce

Employment history: Employed by a private, British, think tank 1993 until 2000. Angel Investigations, Los Angeles, 2000 til 2003 and Wolfram and Hart, Los Angeles office, until November 2005.

Other Information: Wesley Wyndam-Pryce's name has came up in several police investigations until he was employed by Wolfram and Hart where he became a division head.

"I am willing to pay for this business to be permanently dealt with. This man is to disappear, do you understand?" Callabari tapped the file folder to drive home his point.

"Ten thousand now, ten when the matter is done." Henderson didn't bat an eyelash at the acidic look Callabari gave him.

"Agreed, I'll have it deposited in an account in the Grand Caymans and the account number sent to you."

"When do you want it done?" Henderson asked, sipping coffee.

"The sooner the better." Callabari answered. The businessman left the dining room after paying the tab, leaving Henderson sitting at the table.

**Scene Break**

Henderson sat on the rooftop of a bakery across from the Highlander's antique shop. He'd been set up there for three hours, waiting for the shop to close. From his vantage, the ex-patriot could see the windows of the shop with his rifle scope. As a young boy, Henderson had spent many an hour seated in a tree waiting for gators to surface. With his dad's .22 rifle he'd shoot the ancient looking creatures as they waded slowly out of the Mississippi river to sun themselves. If he took more than one shot his father would thrash him for it. One shot was all Jebediah Henderson needed.

Wesley pulled down the venetian window blinds for the evening. Duncan locked the front door and together they walked out the back door to Duncan's car. Wesley held Rebecca's hand as they walked the short distance to the dark sedan waiting for them. Duncan lagged behind, canvasing the rear.

"Here, unlock the doors." Duncan tossed the other Immortal the keys to the low slung sedan. Wesley caught them left handed. A shiver of foreboding ran up Rebecca's spine as she waited for her white knight to open the door. Henderson watched as Duncan MacLeod came around to the driver's side. Wesley held the door for her as she gathered her skirt around her knees. Henderson took the shot, his cross hairs trained on Wesley's chest. Rebecca stood up just as the rifle responded. She stepped in front of Wesley. He saw her slump only a moment before he felt the bullet strike him in the lower chest. Both Wesley and Rebecca hit the ground. Duncan ran around the car, sword drawn from instinct. Looking around, the older Immortal saw the glint of metal on the rooftop. Quickly, he put away the katana. Who ever it was, wasn't Immortal.

**Scene Break**

"I told you, Detective, the shot came from one of the rooftops across the street. Is this Paris or Dallas, 1963?" Duncan commented dryly. Forensics detectives worked the scene, rubber gloves and shoe covers protecting them from contaminating the site of the double murder. Patrol cars and police vehicles surrounded the small antiques shop, lighting up the back alley like the noon day sun. The Immortal just hoped that Wesley or Rebecca didn't wake up before they could load them into the ambulance. Duncan felt his cell phone vibrate in his coat pocket as he sat in the shop waiting on the police to release him. Amanda's number flashed across the LCD screen. Flipping it open he told her the situation and asked her to round Methos up, they had a mission to attend to.

**Scene Break**

"Hello, I'm looking for Jean Pierre Bordeaux." Duncan spoke fluently in French to the lab tech watching the forensic's department. The young tech was tall, with pale blue eyes and huge glasses.

"No Jean Pierre Bordeaux here, sorry." He shrugged, his lab coat collar moving around his scrawny neck and thin shoulders.

"Ahh, that's too bad, I was looking forward to seeing him." With a quick upward thrust of the heel of his hand, Duncan broke the tech's nose. As he bent forward the Immortal knocked him on the back of the head. Duncan dragged him into the forensic's lab and laid him on a stainless steel, postmortem table. Pulling his cell phone out, he hit speed dial and called Amanda and Methos in. The unlikely pair showed up a few minutes later.

"Let's get them out of here quickly." Duncan pulled on a pair of exam gloves and began opening the wall of shiny boxes that temporarily housed the dead. On the third try he found Wesley. When the cool air of the morgue hit Wesley in the face he woke up. Great, searing pain swept through his lungs as he took his first breath in hours. It stunned him into action as his brain came back online. He sat up on the slab and looked around. Rubbing his head with the heel of his hand, Wesley let his eyes focus.

"Does it always hurt this badly when you reanimate?" He asked. Three pairs of eyes looked at him.

"Yes." They spoke in unison.

"Where's Rebecca?" Wesley asked, looking around again in surprise. The thin sheet that covered him was slick and did little to block the cold. Amanda pulled open a door next to Wesley and pulled the occupant out. Chestnut hair and porcelain skin were the first thing he saw.

"Rebecca." Quickly, Wesley slid off the waist high slab, taking the sheet with him. He felt the tears begin to build in his cloudy, blue eyes. With a loud gasp, Rebecca came to life. Her chest rose and fell quickly as she opened her eyes.

"Oh." She struggled to sit up. Ever the white knight, Wesley took her hand.

"It's alright, Rebecca. I'm here." He looked into her green eyes.

"Get a move on, People, we've got company." Methos poked his head out the door to see another lab tech coming their way.

"Distract him." Duncan shooed the eldest Immortal out the door. Methos peeled out as Amanda opened the black duffel bag she carried. Quickly she handed out clothing.

"I always hated waking up naked and having to steal clothes." Amanda lamented as she zipped the duffel closed. Duncan gave her a roguish look and held his tongue.

"What's happened,Wesley?" Rebecca asked, confused at waking up unclothed on a morgue slab after being shot in the back.

"I'll explain it all to you, but first we have to get out of here." The young Immortal cupped her face in his hand as she raked her fingers through her wild hair. Methos stepped back in, dragging the lab tech with him.

"I told you to distract him, not knock him senseless." Duncan growled. He'd have thought that a five thousand year old Immortal would have more stealth.

"Do it yourself next time, MacLeod." Methos shot back.

"Did he see you?" Duncan asked as he watched the wiry Immortal heave the curly headed tech onto another exam table.

"No, I caught him from behind." Methos was getting cranky. The rather large group of Immortals made their way out of the morgue and out a back door with the help of one of the tech's magnetic key cards. Joe waited in one vehicle for them while Duncan drove his car. Wesley and Rebecca took the backseat of the small sedan.

**Scene Break**


	6. Chapter 6

"How can this be, Wesley, I've never heard anything so, so, unbelievable." Rebecca shook her head, as if that would make it any better.

"It's proof time." Thought Duncan silently. There always came a time when proof was required. Rebecca looked from Wesley to Duncan, her face pale and tears brimming. Methos and Amanda had left with Joe. New Immortality wasn't something for a crowd. Wesley looked at Duncan and sighed. He then pulled a butcher knife from the butcher block on Duncan's kitchen counter. Quickly, he cut a swath across his palm. Blood poured from the wound. Horrified, Rebecca watched as it began to heal.

"It's true, Rebecca, I sensed it when we first met." Duncan leaned on the arm of the couch where she sat staring dumbly at Wesley's hand.

"I'm going to be twenty-eight forever? I'm never going to die?" She sat bolt upright on the cream and burgundy cushions.

"Death comes to an Immortal when the head is severed from the body. With each head an Immortal takes they gain more power, more knowledge and an advantage over their opponents." Duncan said slowly. It was three in the morning and his voice sounded tired.

"How do I protect myself?" The young woman wondered, feeling very vulnerable and afraid.

"I'll teach you how to protect yourself." Wesley said, his voice sounding hard and different form its usual British lilt.

"Wesley, I think I'm better able to teach Rebecca what she needs to know." Duncan argued.

"No, Duncan, I will take full responsibility for Rebecca's training. She's not the first pupil I've had to prepare for a fight to death. I won't let her die too." Wesley turned, his eyes a dark, stormy blue, his jaw set firmly. Duncan let it go for the time being. Rebecca was still reeling from the shock to bear an argument between them.

"There are a lot of things to figure out, but not tonight. We can talk about it tomorrow." The Boy Scout Immortal pushed himself up and sighed. He was tired.

"I'll go to Amanda's for the night." Duncan picked up his trench coat and walked toward the elevator.

"Thank you, Duncan, for everything." Rebecca called after him. Looking back, he smiled and said, "You're welcome."

Rebecca settled down on the couch for the rest of the night wearing a pair of Amanda's blue, silk pajamas. Wesley made them both a cup of tea. He couldn't stop looking at the girl sitting with her feet tucked beneath her on the couch. What was twenty-eight years? Even in his mid thirties, Wes saw how young she was. He remembered being that young once. That was back, what seemed two lifetimes ago, back before coming to Sunnydale, L.A, before Faith, and Angel, ….. before Fred.

"What is it, Wesley?" Rebecca asked, confused as to why he'd been looking at her, through her actually, for the last ten minutes.

"Thinking about the past." He smiled, leaning his tired head on his fist. Sitting in the arm chair across from Rebecca.

"You seem so sad." Her voice was like a warm wind on a cold day. "Come sit with me." The newest Immortal patted the seat beside her. With a genuine smile, Wesley got up and joined her on the sofa. Immediately, Rebecca curled up next to him, her head on his shoulder. Wes put his arm around her and settled down. Taking his free hand, Rebecca laced her fingers with his. In twenty minutes time she was asleep, and Wes didn't care that his arm fell asleep. He watched her sleep for a while before falling asleep himself.

**Scene Break**

"Wesley." A soft, familiar voice spoke, a giggle behind the southern accent. He could hear the happiness in her voice.

"Who's there?" The ex-Watcher demanded as he looked through the darkness. There wasn't any light, only a weird, grayish-yellow glow coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Wesley found himself walking in what looked to be a swamp, with gnarled, twisted trees and shrubs growing everywhere as well as a mist along the soppy ground.

"Wesley, I'm right here." The voice came again, this time farther away.

"Where are you?" He demanded again as he walked face first into a long, overhanging pile of moss. Wes could hear his shoes sucking down into the mud as he stumbled around.

"I can't see you, who are you?" The mist grew thicker as he tried to find the person who belonged to that familiar voice. Out of the corner of his eye, Wesley saw a white figure move. Turning, he tripped over a tree root.

"Now look what ya gone and done." A very familiar voice spoke, this time just above him. Wesley looked up to see a pair of cowboy boots below a long, gauzy, white dress.

"Fred!" Wesley pushed himself to a standing position to look at the one woman he most wanted to see. The mud and muck on his pants and shirt didn't matter.

"Yep, it's me." Fred smiled, the love in her big, chocolate brown eyes shining like a lighthouse. Wesley took her in, from her long, loose curls to the long, white, low cut dress she wore with her cowboy boots.

"I've wanted to see you for some time." Wes took her hand in his as she stood before him. A breeze blew the long, asymmetrical skirt around her waif-like figure.

"I see you everyday, Wesley." Fred tucked a strand of her brown hair behind her ear. "I see you and Rebecca now." He felt heart sick at the sound of Rebecca's name coming from Fred's ruby lips.

"Is that why you're here, because of me and Rebecca?" Wesley asked, terrified that Fred would be angry.

"Yeah, kinda, unless you go into Freudian dream analysis, where everything ends up being your mother's fault." The smartest person that Wesley had ever known, wrinkled her nose as she laughed. He couldn't help but smile.

"Mostly I'm here to tell you that its o.k and that you don't need to worry anymore about feeling like you're cheatin' on me or that you let me down. Take what you want, Wesley, make yourself happy. That's what I always wanted, just to see you happy." Fred caressed his cheek with the back of her hand and pressed her forehead to his.

"How can I go on without you, Fred, I wasn't alive until you came into my life." Wes kissed her warm, red lips, feeling her soft hair across his knuckles as he cradled her face in his hand. He could have kissed her forever.

"We'll see each other again, Wes, but until then, you've got someone counting on you and you can count on her too. Lean on Rebecca, she can take it." Fred spoke after pulling out of the kiss for air. "I love you, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce." With one last, shining smile she was gone, faded into the nothingness of the eerie swamp.

"I love you, Fred." Wes said to the nothingness, to the Spanish moss hanging lazily from the twisted branches of the trees, to the squishy mud beneath his boots. He'd held her one last time, kissed her one last time. Wes' heart ached with both happiness and grief.

"Wesley, wake up." Another familiar, female voice called out. Waking slowly from the dream Wes blinked until smiling brown eyes became crystalline green ones.

"Are you hungry?" Rebecca asked, her hair up in a pony tail. She wore the same silk pajamas that Amanda had lent her.

"I found eggs and bacon in the refrigerator, I hope Duncan doesn't mind." Wesley smelled bread baking in the oven.

"Yes, quite hungry actually." Rebecca had laid a chenille throw over him when she'd gotten up. Wes laid it off and rose to stretch his muscles.

"You must have been dreaming, because you were talking in your sleep." Harsh, radiating morning light flooded the loft, making Wes squint to see.

"Was I? I don't remember." He lied. Crossing the open area of the apartment, Wes came to help Rebecca with breakfast.

"Yeah, you kept talking to someone named Fred. Who were you talking to?" She looked him in the eye as she stirred eggs to scramble.

"She was someone I..." He broke off, tending to the bacon sitting on the back burner. "Winifred Burkle, she was someone I lost." Rebecca saw the pain wash over his face as Wes tried to shrug it off.

"I heard you say, _'I love you, Fred'_. I can tell she meant the world to you, Wesley. You don't have to hide it to shield my feelings." Rebecca kissed his cheek.

After a breakfast of biscuits, gravy, bacon, scrambled eggs and sliced tomatoes, Wesley and Rebecca settled down to wait for Duncan. They were both drowsy after the side splitting meal. Wesley had enjoyed the moment of domestic bliss. It was new to him. Nodded off, the pair immediately jerked awake as they felt the surge of energy and power coming from the elevator shaft.

"What's that?" Rebecca asked, rubbing her temples.

"The presence of other Immortals. Duncan and Amanda are coming up in the elevator."

"How do you get used to it?" She shook her head as if to clear the feeling.

"Mmmm, I smell breakfast." Amanda walked out of the gated elevator ahead of Duncan. She immediately headed for the stove and picked up a strip of lean bacon and took a bite.

"I see you two are comfy." She strolled over and sat in the arm chair as Duncan checked the caller I.D. Rebecca pulled her long legs out from beneath her and sat up straight. She'd been leaning against Wes as she tried unsuccessfully to read an old newspaper before falling asleep.

"Have you heard anything about what happened last night?" Wes asked, hoping to change the subject.

"The media is playing it up, the heiress to the Callabari fortune being assassinated with an as yet unidentified man." Duncan tossed the latest newspaper onto the coffee table. A picture of Rebecca with her father took up a quarter of the front page. Rebecca remembered the picture, it had been taken at a charity banquet for The Canadian Leukemia Association when she was twenty-one.

_**Le Monde**_

Canadian Heiress Murdered Behind Antiques Shop.

Shortly before eleven o'clock Thursday night police received a call reporting shots fired. When officers arrived Canadian heiress Rebecca Callabari and an as yet unidentified man lay dead behind MacLeod Antiques. Police are not commenting on a possible motive for the heinous crime. Miss Callabari's father, Cliff Callabari, has also refused to comment on his daughter's death, citing the on-going investigation. Anyone who has any information concerning the crime is asked to contact the Paris Police Department.

Wesley sighed as he read the newspaper. It wouldn't take them long to identify him, he knew that. The forensic's team had fingerprinted him before putting him in the icebox. Wes regretted getting involved with Wolfram and Hart for one more of a thousand reasons. His fingerprints were on file with every Wolfram and Hart office on Earth and in several other dimensions.

"What do we do now?" Rebecca asked, vocalizing the question that was on Wesley's mind as well.

"You disappear for a while." Duncan said, shrugging.

"Change your appearance and find a new identity." Amanda added. Duncan thought to himself,

"You would know." Amanda had changed her hair cut and color so often that Duncan had become oblivious to it.

"That takes the kind of capital that neither of us have just now." Wesley looked out into space, his brows knit in deep thought.

"I wouldn't say that." Rebecca smiled like the cat that had swallowed the canary. Wes looked at her, one eye brow cocked in bewilderment.

"I learned a lot of things from my father, one of them was how to hide assets. Mom put money in a Swiss account when I was a toddler, I've been adding to it ever since. The account is in her maiden name. Father doesn't know anything about it." Wes was glad to see the self-satisfied look on Rebecca's face.

"How much is in the account?" Duncan asked, wondering what other surprises were in store.

"Eleven million American dollars, not counting the interest that has accrued." The newest Immortal narrowed her green eyes in a sly expression.

"She may outlive us all." Amanda quipped. She and MacLeod exchanged knowing glances.** SB**


	7. Chapter 7

"Hey, Kid, you take the high road, I'll stay on the DL, alright." Faith slapped Connor on the back as they left the hotel. With a friendly smirk, Connor scaled the nearest building. Winter in Los Angeles had been eventful. Despite vampires, demons and a lack of forces, Angel's team had fared pretty well.

High heels clattered on the wooden planks of an old garage's upstairs apartment. A punk

rocker vamp scaled the four by four post to reach the roof. Connor and Faith had been following him since he'd picked out the dancer for his dinner. Connor came down from the A-frame roof behind the vamp while Faith lept the stairs three at a time. The punk went into game face as he sized up the slim, bottle blonde. In her fish nets and red halter top, the dancer was an easy mark.

"I'm hungry, aren't you?" Faith asked as she seized the vampire by the back of the neck. After screaming, the dancer fainted at the sight of the mohawked vamp. Connor dropped noiselessly onto the loft's stoop.

"Starved." Connor thrust his wooden stake into the punk's chest, his yellow eyes wide in horror.

"Chinese or pizza?" Faith asked, taking the blonde's keys and unlocking her door. Connor picked the dancer up beneath her arms while Faith got her feet. The pair easily carried her inside and onto a cheap, worn, leather couch and left her there. Faith dropped her keys on the coffee table and locked the door before she and Connor left.

"Definitely pizza." Connor grinned, a strand of his long, light brown hair obscuring his eyes.

"Always pizza, you're going to turn into a pepperoni." Faith playfully tapped him on the arm. Angel's son grinned slowly and looked away bashfully.

"Why do you do that?" He asked, his voice low as they walked down the street. A light breeze blew a Wal-Mart bag down the cement sidewalk ahead of them.

"Do what?" Faith's brows knitted together, her hands jammed deep in her denim jacket pockets.

"Punch me on the shoulder like that." Cars and lights surrounded them, making the rough neighborhood riddled with shadows.

"Don't know, never thought about it, guess its me just being friendly." The Slayer shrugged as she walked down the trash littered sidewalk. Connor hesitated before speaking.

"Your heart speeds up every time you touch me." He heard her heart beat hard against her ribs as she studied the distant horizon.

"Listen, Kid, you aren't going all mushy on me are you? Trying to figure out which side of the coin you'll land on." Faith shook her head.

"No, I just wanted to know if you'd mind this." Connor pushed her up against the brick building beside them and pressed a passionate, soft kiss against her full lips. His hand cradled her face as he deepened the kiss. Shocked, Faith took a second before she kissed him back. Superhuman senses picked up the smell of Faith's pheromones, the smell of her shampoo, the feel of her cheek in his hand, and every other overwhelming sensation of kissing a girl.

"WOW!" Faith breathed as Connor pulled away. A million things ran through her mind. "Angel's going to be pissed" and "The Kid's a better kisser than his old man, if that's possible." were the top two. Connor studied her reaction. It wasn't what he'd hoped for. Faith smiled, then looked away before glancing at him again.

"Did I do it wrong?" The look on Connor's face made Faith cringe inside.

"No, no, that was one hell of a kiss, don't get me wrong, I just, it surprised me is all." The Slayer liked it better when her back wasn't against a wall, literally and figuratively.

"Then what's wrong?" Connor persisted. His light eyes betrayed his confusion.

"Listen, Kid, me and you, totally a bad idea. I break every relationship I touch." The Slayer put her hands on her hips as she tried to reason with him.

"I know how that works." Connor backed away. He toyed with his stake as Cordelia's smiling face crossed his mind. Their relationship had been a lie, but still, it felt real at the time.

"Give me time, Connor. My life's been screwey up until Angel gave me another chance." A car cruised by, thumping bass to announce its arrival.

"I can do that." Connor agreed, a pouty expression on his face.

"Come on, let's get Chinese." Faith began to walk.

"Pizza, we agreed on pizza." Connor grumbled. They fussed and quarreled like little kids all the way to Pizza Hut.

**Scene Break**

Rebecca looked at the eight inches of chestnut hair laying around the kitchen chair in Duncan's bathroom. She wanted to cry. Soft curls lay at her feet as Amanda stood behind her with the scissors. The older Immortal smiled brightly, trying to make the drastic change less uncomfortable.

"How goes it in there?" Wes asked from outside the door.

"It's going great." Amanda answered as Rebecca sniffed, trying to hide her disappointment. Wes stood outside the door and listened, wishing he could make it easier for Rebecca.

"Alright, Sweetie, it's time for hair color." Fashionista Amanda held up a box of auburn hair dye. A tear finally broke through and fell from Rebecca's green eyes.

"It will wash out in six weeks, Rebecca." Amanda knelt down and took the young woman's hands in her's.

"I'm sorry, I'm just being silly. I've just never been in this big of a mess before. I've felt invisible all my life, but now I really have to become invisible." More tears fell as Rebecca took a shuddering breath.

"I know, Sweetie, but you've got a hunk of a Brit right out there just waiting to help you, and Duncan and I are only a phone call away." Amanda took a deep breath so that she wouldn't cry too.

"Wesley has been great, like a rock. I care for him, but its like he's holding something back." the former heiress grabbed a length of toilet paper off the roll and blew her nose quietly.

"Have you asked him about it, about what's so personal?" Amanda grabbed a length of Charmin too and wiped her nose.

"No, I haven't, I don't want to pry, but I see the pain in his eyes sometimes and wonder about who put it there and how I can make it easier to bear." Wesley felt the words like a blow. Even with Fred's words still in his ears, his heart felt torn.

"A burden shared is a burden halved. A wise man once told me that when I was in India. Ask Wesley about it so that he can share the burden." Amanda patted Rebecca on the hand before standing up.

"Thank you, Amanda." The young Immortal smiled back at her in the mirror.

"No problem, Sweetie, now, let's get this done so that the boys can have the bathroom back." With a devilish gleam in her eye, Amanda snapped the latex gloves against the heel of her hand.

**Scene Break**

Faith sat on the side of the bed, her sock clad feet kicking idly. The hotel was was quiet for the time being. _Knock knock_

"Come in." The Slayer called out.

" 'ello, Gwen says the food is ready." Spike leaned into the doorway.

"Spike, have you ever been in love?" The question took him off guard. Spike gave her a _Seriously?_ look before answering.

"A time or two, yea." Curious, the vampire stepped inside the small room.

"What's with the question, Girley?" he asked.

"Ah, no reason." Faith shrugged it off and slipped on her house shoes.

" 'as the love bug bit ya?"

"No, more like opened a can of worms is all." The Slayer followed Spike out of the hotel room toward the kitchen in the basement.

"Which one of ya made the first move?" The platinum vamp asked, stopping to gauge her reaction.

"What move?" It was a bad stalling tactic, but Faith didn't want to discuss it.

"Did the wee snapper get frisky, or did you make with the Casanova?" Spike clarified in his 1969, Carnaby Street way.

"It was Connor." She groaned inwardly as her face crumpled in defeat.

"And you're put off of the tyke because 'es Angel's brat, am I right?" Spike nailed it on the head just a little too well. All Faith had to do was nod. The incredulous expression Spike's face made her want to pound his face.

"Does Angel know?"

"Don't think so." Faith shrugged.

"Gonna tell 'im?" Spike persisted.

"Gonna have to eventually." She sighed as she leaned against the wall.

"Sooner is better, Love." Spike clapped her on the shoulder, until Faith pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes.

**Scene Break**

Connor stood by the window looking out at the alley running between the Hyperion and a dry cleaners next door. Angel's office was small, with afternoon sunlight illuminating the dark corners. With one deep inhale Connor could smell his father's essence in the room.

"Hey, Son, what's on your mind?" Angel leaned against the door jamb of the office, a mug of blood in his hand. The dark champion watched his only son turned from the window. Sometimes the way Connor moved reminded him of Darla.

"A girl." Connor let a half smile pull at his full, lower lip.

"Faith?" Angel spoke. From the way Connor hung his head before looking up, Angel knew it was true.

"Guilty as charged." the boy let the black-out curtain fall back over the window, allowing Angel to move deeper into the office.

"Do you like Faith?" Angle asked, sitting his six foot plus frame in a leather, swivel chair.

"Yea, I do like her." Connor perched on the corner of the desk. Nervous, he played with a letter opener with a harp at the head.

"Does she know?" Angel felt a knot forming in the pit of his stomach. He tried to be patient and listen, something he'd wished his own father had done. He took a long sip of his afternoon pigs blood.

"I kissed her last night while we were out on patrol, so I guess she knows." Connor hid a smirk as Angel choked on his blood.

"You kissed her!" Angel managed after a moment of coughing and sputtering. Did she, um, did Faith kiss back?" The champion vamp squirmed in his chair.

"Well, it was kind of hard to tell, but I believe she did." Connor shrugged as he played with the letter opener. Angel wondered what to say next.

"Faith asked me to give her time, how do I know she's not giving me a nice brush off?" Girls were not a topic of conversation the vampire was comfortable talking about, especially with Connor.

"Well, Faith has had a rough past, she just wants to do things right this time." Angel barely had it out before Connor cut in.

"She's afraid you won't approve." He laid the letter opener down and looked his father in the eye. The young man's intense, crystalline eyes were a mix of sad truth and questions.

"Why wouldn't I approve of Faith?" Angel asked, a little bewildered.

"Come on, Angel, you get pretty weird when it comes to me, pretty weird and pretty aggressive." Connor scoffed. The two hundred year old vampire hung his head before speaking.

"Yeah, I do, its" he paused, looking at his shoes, "I care." Angel spoke low, looking into his son's eyes when he looked up.

"Will you tell Faith you approve?" Angel nodded. He didn't intend to stand in the way. It would drive another wedge between them if he tried.

"Alright, well, I'll see you later." Connor hopped off the desk and headed for the door.

**Scene Break**


	8. Chapter 8

"Wesley, I'm telling you, this isn't a good idea, you're not ready to train Rebecca, you're barely trained yourself." Duncan insisted. He'd been going round and round with Wes for the last twenty minutes about leaving.

"I appreciate your concern, Duncan, but I have trained others in the past, I am quite capable of training Rebecca." Wes looked at him, his jaw firmly set and his glare menacing. Duncan shook his head as he looked out the window, his hands resting on his hips.

"You will be going up against Immortals with centuries of experience, how do you expect to train that girl in there for that kind of fighting?" Duncan turned on his heel to face Wesley.

"Try training for an Apocalypse sometime." Wesley stood firm. As Wes and Duncan stood giving each other death glares, Rebecca walked out of the bathroom.

"Well, how does it look?" She smiled apprehensively, touching her chin length, auburn hair.

"Its lovely, Rebecca." Wes crossed the room to where she stood. The strain still evident in his eyes.

"I told you it looks great." Amanda came out wearing one of Duncan's dress shirts as a smock. Red splotches covered the front and the cuffs of the sleeves. Duncan's face became beet red when he saw it.

"Amanda, that's my tuxedo shirt." He too crossed the room, to strangle his minx of a lover.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Duncan, I'll get you a new one." She gave him a perturbed look and crossed her arms over her chest.

"You borrowed it without asking, Amanda, just like you do everything." The Scot ran his fingers through his dark hair instead of slipping them tightly around Amanda's neck.

"What were you two discussing so ardently before we came in?" Amanda changed the subject, hoping to divert his attention away from her.

"Duncan disapproves of Rebecca and me leaving Paris." Wesley informed the ladies standing by the fire place.

"Rebecca isn't ready to go up against an opponent yet." Duncan began the argument again, this time leaning against the arm chair. Amanda lifted a short sword from above the fireplace and came at Wesley from behind. Turning, the ex-Watcher threw up his left hand to fend off the blow and shot out his right hand to encase her throat. Wes held onto Amanda's sword arm by the wrist, not intending to let go until she dropped the three and a half foot blade. Black specks began to float before the thief's dark eyes. She let go of the sword, letting it clatter to the hardwood floor. Wes still held her wrist tightly. Amanda brought her elbow down on the hand holding her throat and tried to move backward. With his left fist, Wes backhanded Amanda hard enough to send her sprawling unconscious to the floor.

"Do you still think I'm not a skilled enough fighter?" Wesley demanded tersely. Amanda began to come to. Duncan shook his head in defeat. Rebecca knelt down beside Amanda, her face pale white with shock.

"What were you thinking?" The youngest Immortal squalled out at Wesley.

"I'm fine, Rebecca." Amanda smiled as the bruise faded before Rebecca's eyes. The young woman didn't know what to make of the scene.

"Duncan, Wesley seems to be pretty good on his feet, I think he could train Rebecca." Amanda looked him in the eye as she spoke. She didn't want to see Rebecca or Wesley die either, but the Boy Scout Highlander didn't know when to let go sometimes. He felt personally responsible for everyone, which wasn't a bad thing necessarily.

"Alright, I give in." Duncan sighed. He still didn't like it, but it was a moot point.

**Scene Break**

"Mr. Callabari, you have a call on line one." The shipping magnate looked up from the contract he'd been reading. His faithful secretary closed the door behind her.

"Hello." Callabari spoke, not paying attention to the other end of the line.

"Callabari, where's the rest of my money?" The irate voice on the line broke Callabari from the contract.

"What in hell are you calling me here for, Henderson?" Callabari tried not to shout.

"I'll call you where ever I please, where's the rest of my money?" Henderson hissed.

"Where are the bodies? You botched the job, Henderson, there is no_ 'rest of the money'_ for a botched job." The businessman's voice sounded like brakes grinding on an eighteen wheeler.

"The Paris police lost the bodies." Henderson called Callabari a few choice words.

"Rebecca and Wesley Wyndam-Pryce are still alive or they've become zombies, either way, you messed up and I DO NOT pay for messed up jobs." Callabari growled before he hung the phone up abruptly. Uneasy, Callabari called his secretary and had her cancel all his meetings for the rest of the day. Since the Paris police informed him that his daughter's body was stolen, Cliff Callabari had had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. The unknown element troubled him. He suspected that his daughter was alive and that any moment the police were going to come through his door and arrest him for murder. Callabari left the office for the day and drove home. A chill ran up his spine when he stepped through the door to his mansion. Rebecca stood in every corner, her picture, her books, her things; she was all through the house like a ghost. Cliff drowned his ghost in a bottle of twelve year old Scotch.

**Scene Break**

"Hey, Angel, what's the deal?" Faith stepped into the office just after sunset, just before she was to leave to go on patrol. Angel sat up straighter in his chair, not liking what he was about to have to do.

"Faith, hello, I wanted to talk to you about something." The insouled vampire tried not to squirm. The Slayer took a seat in one of the chair across the desk from Angel. Her heart beat fast in her chest. Nervous, Faith took a deep breath and looked Angel in the eye.

"Fire away, Boss." The Slayer let a smirk cross her full lips.

"Connor talked to me yesterday, he told me..." Faith cut him off in mid-sentence.

"Connor told you that we kissed." She finished, her dark brows knitting together in apprehension.

"Yeah, that's what he told me." Faith stood up, feeling the need to be on her feet, to be moving.

"It was just one kiss, just one." She shoved her hands into the hip pockets of her dark jeans as she paced the office.

"I think Connor and you could be a good thing." Angel said it quickly, just like pulling off Duct tape. Faith went from looking at her feet to looking at Angel.

"A good thing?" She took a step toward the desk.

"I mean, there aren't any normal girls who can keep up with Connor and you're the first one he's shown an interest in since... Connor thinks that I wouldn't approve of the two of you." Angel finished, unable to say Cordelia's name out loud. The slight pause in Angel's speech caught Faith's attention, but she wasn't about to dig deeper into it. She wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Are you out of your dusty mind, Angel? You know as well as anyone that I screw up everything I touch, everyone who's came near me has paid the Devil himself for it." Faith ran her fingers through her thick, dark hair.

"No one's past mistakes should rob them of a future. Give it a chance." The champion hoped that he could convince her to take a chance on Connor and on herself. Faith crossed her arms across her chest and chewed on her bottom lip as she listened.

"Maybe it could work, but I'm not going to hold my breath." She sighed and walked out the door. Angel breathed a sigh of relief; catastrophe averted. With one less thing on his mind, the good vamp returned to the book he was reading.

"Angel, there's something on the tellie that you ought to see." Spike came in uninvited, his boots leaving behind a muddy trail.

"Don't you ever knock, Spike?" Angel didn't even look up from the paragraph he was reading.

"Be that way, Broody Boy, but the news cast is splashing Wesley's face all over it." The impertinent vampire made himself comfortable in the chair that Faith had just vacated. Angel made his way to the television behind the registration desk. Connor turned the thirteen inch set up for everyone to hear.

"Former Wolfram and Hart executive, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, has been found dead outside an antiques shop in Paris. In an apparent double murder, Canadian shipping heiress Rebecca Callabari, was also shot and killed. Parisian police have yet to give a statement about the disappearance of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and Rebecca Callabari's bodies." The newscaster went on to talk about Cliff Callabari's fortune and his reaction to his daughter's death.

"Damn, I thought he was dead." Faith leaned in to see the screen better.

"So did I." Angel agreed. Everyone gathered around the small set, amazed at seeing Wesley's face after so many months. Illyria walked down the stairs from her room on the second floor to see the others gathered around the television. Quiet as a tomb, she came to stand behind them.

"What is this?" The Old One's voice sounded annoyed.

"Wesley's turned up in Paris, dead again." Connor answered as the group cleared to let her see the television.

"Wesley has been dead these many months. He expired before my very eyes." She became indignant.

"We're not sure its even him, Love." Spike shrugged. Angel shot him a death glare for having to agree with him. "Spike is right, it may be Wes' body but it may not actually be him." He hated agreeing with Spike.

"This thing must be verified." Illyria spoke low, lower than usual. She hardly talked, preferring to haunt the hotel silently. Most of the time no one paid her much attention as she stayed in Fred's old room. Sometimes she sat out on the roof, looking down at the city.

"I intend to." Angel walked away toward the registration desk and picked up the phone.

"Who ya callin, Mate?" Spike inquired, strolling up nonchalantly.

"Someone who owes me a favor." The dark champion took the cordless phone and went to his office. A half an hour later he came out. The gang sat around the lobby, waiting. Angel headed upstairs to his room to pack.

"I wish to go with you." Illyria came into the office unannounced and uninvited. Her unearthly blue eyes watched as Angel threw a change of clothes in a small duffel on his bed.

"I'm going alone." He stated simply, putting his socks in last.

"I am going with you, Angel." She had to see this through, she had to see Wes for herself. The memory of his death had stayed with her.

"This isn't up for discussion, Illyria." He stopped to look the Old One in the face. "You'd stand out." He finished, trying to find a good reason not to let her go, although if he really tried, she'd only tear the place down. It didn't seem to phase Illyria. "I can get this done faster if I go alone." Angel tried again.

"Mortals would find my appearance, disturbing?" The blue goddess asked. Angel inwardly groaned.

"Yes, something like that." The vampire turned back to his packing.

"Would they find this form more acceptable?" Confused, Angel turned around to see Illyria change into Fred's form. Her eerie blue eyes were now chocolate brown and her armor had been replaced with a pair of jeans and a jade green, button down blouse.

"Yea, that's more inconspicuous." He sighed and took a seat on the bed. Fred's form was painful to look at, knowing it wasn't really her behind those big, intelligent eyes.

"Why are you going, Illyria?" Angel ran his thumb around the stiff, leather handle of the old duffel bag.

"This person masquerading as Wesley must be stopped." She answered simply, but her motivation was still hidden.

"We leave in twenty minutes." Angel picked up the duffel bag and walked toward the door. He didn't have time to explore the complexities of Illyria's motivations.

The Hyperion Hotel lobby looked like a funeral home. Connor and Faith were sitting side by side on the registration counter. Spike watched the television and Gwen sat backwards in a straight backed chair in the middle of the lobby.

"I'll be back in a few days." Angel walked through the lobby, turning back before he got to the door, "Faith, you and Connor take care of the place." Connor hopped down from the counter with a smile.

"You're leaving the pip squeak in charge!" Spike grumbled, pointing one, long finger at Connor.

"Someone stake him, please." Angel waved it off as Illyria came up beside him on the step.

"And you're taking Miss Scary One with you, man, this sucks." The platinum blonde vamp complained like a teenager. Neither Angel or Illyria looked behind them as they left.

Angel drove to the harbor, enjoying the silence. If Wesley were still alive it explained why Gunn's battle axe was found in the hotel after the battle. Huge carriers sat moored to the docks, their lights twinkling and swaying against the cityscape. A light breeze blew in the harsh smell of the salt and decay of the steel and metal monstrosities. Without a word, Angel led them to a rustier, dirtier ship than the rest. The historic vampire heard a French drinking song being sung at the top of someone's lungs as he and the Old One approached.

"Hello, the boat." Angel shouted out, his French rusty. A dark figure came to the railing, looking down at them, and responded in broken English, "Angel, my friend." A ladder was thrown over the rail. Easily, Angel and Illyria hoisted themselves up to the deck of the boat.

"Angel, you did not tell me you were bringing a lady." A grizzled man of about fifty stood near the railing, his clothes were worn and had been repaired many times. A thick, white stubble covered his face.

"I didn't know I was until about an hour ago." Angel shook the rough hand extended to him.

"Ah, Felix is glad to help anyway." The sailor slapped Angel on the back and took the duffel bag he carried from him.

"Felix, this is Illyria." Angel introduced the humorless goddess to the quirky Frenchman.

"A pleasure, mon ami." Felix bowed slightly as Illyria looked on at the gesture without appreciation.

"So, how long before we sail?" Angel asked as Felix shook his head, confused at Illyria's snobby attitude.

"We sail in two hours, let me show you to your quarters." The Frenchman limped as he navigated the deck of the freighter.

"I hope you don't mind the cabin, we've been having trouble with rats lately." Angel groaned inwardly, why always rats? It was going to be a long sea voyage.

**Scene Break**


	9. Chapter 9

Spike refused to have anything to do with the rest of the group. He promptly went on a three day bender at a bar downtown after Angel left. Faith and Connor had the hotel to themselves without Angel, Illyria and Spike around. The vampire Slayer hid in her room the first day, knowing that Connor was bound to come looking for her. Around noon of the second day, he knocked on her door.

"Faith, are you alright?" His voice was low, but she heard the concern in his tone. "Let me in, please." Quietly, the Slayer turned the lock on the hotel door and opened it. "Well, it lives." He quipped, his crystalline eyes scanning the small room. A punching bag hung in one corner, while a pair of black, leather boots laid in another. It was a neat, but lived in room.

"I've just been..um.." Faith sat in the middle of the bed, her knees pulled up against her chest.

"Avoiding me." Connor leaned against the low, blonde dresser sitting beside the door.

"Yea, that." She toyed with one of her toes as she looked up at him. A dim lamp and the television provided the only light to see by. Shadows made the muted walls seem smaller.

"Did Angel talk to you?" Connor pushed himself to his full height and stepped across the room. Gently he sat down on the corner of the full size bed.

"Yea, me and Angel talked, he gave me his blessing I guess." Faith wanted to scoot back against the head board as much as she wanted to close the gap between her and Connor to give him an awe inspiring kiss.

"Then what's the hold up?" The son of two vampires looked into Faith's dark eyes with such an intensity, such a steadiness that she felt compelled to answer.

"Connor, I don't want to jump into this thing at full throttle, I don't wanna go hittin the sack first thing off the bat." She did, but didn't want to admit it. The kid was something of an enigma to the Slayer. She wanted to get lost in his eerie, Atlantic blue eyes. When he looked at her the air was sucked out of the room. Fighting with him was like riding a motorcycle at a hundred miles an hour, the vibration of the motor reverberating through her bones as she strained to keep a hold of the controls. Connor was that kind of high, that kind of adrenalin rush.

"Is there any other way for us?" He asked looking into the wall ahead of him, but not really seeing it.

"Every time I jump in and every time I get burnt, get people burnt. All there is is carnage after I touch something." She felt tears well up in her brown eyes as she thought of her time in Sunnydale. She'd heard about Connor through the grapevine, but hadn't been there to witness the dark relationship he'd had with Cordelia. He'd had a short, happy relationship with a girl before he'd regained his memories. Now some of his old loneliness had returned. He just wanted to see solace in someone who know the weirdness; the view from the outside of normal.

"We can compare stories all night if you want to, Faith, but it won't make me like you less or go away." Connor pulled her hand away from picking off the black polish off of her big toe. She didn't scare him, not something she was used to. Faith let him take her hand in both of his and pull her close enough to press his lips to hers. She let herself smile as he kissed her, his free hand caressing her cheek.

**Scene Break**

"Where will we go, Wesley?" Rebecca's voice sounded soft and trusting to the ex-Watcher's ears. Duncan had new identities forged for them while Amanda had made the travel arrangements.

"South America." He answered, trying to sound reassuring. It was the most off the wall place that he could think of.

"Won't two Europeans stand out in South America?" Rebecca walked up to the scruffy man looking out at Paris. He had grown distant since their deaths. Rebecca wondered at his silence. He stood looking out the window at the city street below. Wes hadn't spoken in hours. Rebecca spoke just to hear the sound of a voice in the spacious apartment.

"I suppose we can always find something to keep us busy, exploring ancient Mayan ruins, studying the pictographs." She stepped up behind Wes and laid her head against his shoulder. Gently, Rebecca put her arms around his waist. Warming up to her, Wes turned and put his arm around her shoulder and enjoyed the fresh smell of her hair.

"That sounds quite lovely, doesn't it." Wes felt her hair against his cheek. Rebecca was so warm and close.

"Do you regret becoming an Immortal, Wesley?" The young woman asked, her green eyes looking up at him in their reflection in the window.

"Sometimes." He regretted a lot of things.

"Is that why you've been so distant lately?" Rebecca saw the shade of a ghost in Wes' eyes.

"Oh, have I? I'm sorry." He smiled, a distant look in his eyes as he looked away. Rebecca walked around to face him pulling his chin down to look her in the eye.

"Something is holding you back, Wesley, I've seen it ever since I came to see you here." The newest Immortal pulled out of his embrace and leaned against the window sill. Her long legs were covered by a pair of black leggings. She looked cozy in one of Wesley's baggy, white sweaters.

"It's quite an adjustment, becoming an Immortal, especially when I'm separated from everything remotely familiar to me." He tried to cover the pain in his voice with a smile. Rebecca didn't buy it for a second.

"Is it being separated from everything familiar or being apart from someone familiar?" She came to the point, her arms crossed over her chest. Wesley looked as if he'd been punched in the gut.

"I know you're hurting, Wesley, I know you're haunted by something in your past that you haven't told me about. Tell me about it now, please." Rebecca reached out to him, her fingers raking down his jade green, button up shirt. Wesley sat down in an arm chair, feeling the weight of all his past sins, regrets, un-seized opportunities, and dashed hopes sitting on his chest like a mill stone round his neck. There wasn't enough time to outlive or out run them all. Slowly, he began telling Rebecca about the last six years of his life. From the time the Watcher's Council sent him to Sunnydale until he'd felt Fred's arms around him for the last time as he lay dying, Wesley told her everything. He let the tears come unbidden. In some way, he'd let down everyone who'd ever trusted him. Rebecca cried as he began telling her about the night at the ballet, when he'd first realized how deeply he loved Fred. For almost three years he'd watched her everyday; going on with her life as if he didn't exist. Sobs erupted as he told of the betrayal he felt as she turned to Gunn. With bitter tears Wesley tried to explain how heartsick and completely broken he'd been as he watched Fred die in his arms. Rebecca pulled him close, her comforting arms strong and steady as he let himself break down for the first time in over a year.

"I'm here for you, Wesley, always." Rebecca ran her fingers through his thick, dark hair as she comforted the tormented man in her arms. The pair sat for a long time in companionable silence. It was a side of Wes that Rebecca had never seen; a side of him that he kept pulled down, deep inside. It was a side of the Brit that wasn't likely to come out often.

**Scene Break **

"Finally, we are in French waters." Angel leaned against the railing of the freighter. A clear sky showed innumerable stars overhead. A light breeze pulled at the vampire's coat tails as he stood beside Illyria on the deck. Below decks the sailors were drinking and singing. What is it about being drunk that makes everyone think they're a rock star?

"It will not be long until we find Wesley." Illyria's voice sounded rough from disuse. Angel wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement. The Old One looked at the distant horizon, as if she could see Wesley from aboard the ship.

"Yea, I hope so." Angel looked up at the stars. Their long dead light reminded him how old he was. The canvas of heavenly pin pricks seemed as distant and elusive as the sunshine to the dark avenger.

"I wish to be free of this time consuming conveyance. It is loathsome to me; the reek of it, the miniscule compartment we must share." The blue goddess snarled her nose at the rusting tub beneath her feet.

"No complaints from me." Angel fully intended to hop into the cargo hold of an airplane to get back to Los Angeles.

The next day, as the sun set, Angel led Illyria through the city of Caen, just west of Paris. The vampire hot wired a car and they drove into the City of Lights. Once in the bustling, urban city it was relatively easy to find MacLeod's antique shop. The place was well advertised around the city. Angel found a deserted loft across the street for him and Illyria to wait out the daylight. The blue goddess watched out the window as customers frequented the small shop. A black clad wreath hung on the door. For the most part Illyria was silent, much to Angel's thanks. He wasn't in the mood for her dissenting opinion of humanity. Just after sundown Illyria called Angel's attention to a man leaving the shop. His dark hair was short and combed back from his warm, brown eyes. He moved with the grace of a jungle cat as he walked toward a small, dark car parked beneath the window where Illyria stood.

"Do you feel the power he exudes?" Illyria asked as her eerie, blue eyes studied the man.

"No, but I can tell he's different." Angel pulled on his black trench coat and headed for the door. Illyria followed. The pair easily leaped from one roof top to another as they followed the car a few blocks. Angel's keen eyes watched the man pull on a long coat, a slim, curved sword hidden in it's folds. He descended to street level and followed silently behind.

Duncan felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. He was being followed and he knew it. The Immortal waited until the dark figure on his trail entered Wesley's apartment building behind him. With his sword drawn Duncan waited behind a faux marble pillar. Angel felt cold steel on the back of his neck as he quickly scanned the dark lobby.

"I am Duncan MacLeod. Who are you?" He demanded, his thick, dark brows furrowed in a grim expression.

"Angel." The vampire held up his hands to show that they were empty. He saw Illyria come from the depths of the shadows. She seized Duncan by the throat from behind and pulled him backwards to her level.

"Do you wish me to extinguish him?" She asked, looking into Duncan's eyes as she cut his air off.

"Let him go, Illyria." Angel sighed, perturbed at letting her tag along.

"What's the meaning of this?" Duncan demanded, rubbing his throat to get the feel of her grip out of his skin.

"We are looking for Wesley Wyndam-Pryce." Angel came out with it. Duncan looked at the two people before him. Neither of them were mortal, but they weren't Immortals either.

"Why?" The Highlander demanded, his sword still at the ready.

"Wesley is a compatriot of ours." Illyria answered, her eyes wide as she turned her head to one side. Her deep, feminine voice was chilling. Duncan backed away slowly when he caught sight of Illyria's unnatural, azure eyes.

"Prove it." With an inward groan, Angel pulled a picture of the Angel Investigations team out of the inside of his duster. Wesley's stiff smile was almost lost among the others.

"I'm afraid you're too late, Wesley is dead." Duncan watched as the news didn't cause any reaction. Angel looked from the Scot to Illyria.

"When has that ever stopped anyone." Angel shrugged, putting his hand on his hip. "Me, I've been dead over two hundred years." The vampire let his game face come out and play before taking a step toward Duncan.

"Wesley, if it is truly him, is in no danger of harm." Illyria joined in, her appearance changing to it's usual pale, blueness. Duncan didn't move a centimeter.

"I don't find that very comforting." Duncan took up a fighting stance, his sword held high as he bent his right leg to spring forward.

"Stop!" A familiar, British voice sounded in the gloom of the apartment building's lobby. Wesley walked up to Angel and held out a hand to shake. With his heightened senses even more finely tuned, his demon being barely leashed, the vampire could sense the difference in Wesley, but he still smelled like a human.

"It's been a while, Wes." Angel went back to normal features and shook Wes' extended hand. The ex-Watcher had put on a few pounds of muscle and looked better than Angel had seen him in a long time.

"Yes it has, I see you heard of my recent demise on the news." Wes turned to look at Duncan.

"Angel, this is Duncan MacLeod, I was fortunate enough to run into him in L.A after meeting my demise at Vale's hand." It was a long story that Wes was tired of telling. Illyria stood silent, watching the conversation. Wes hated seeing her. The Old One was better left as far away as possible.

"This is Illyria, an old acquaintance." Wes introduced her to his new mentor.

"I sense a difference in the two of you, there is a great power." The goddess looked both Wes and Duncan from head to toe.

"I am an Immortal." Wes explained in a low tone. Eventually Wes led Angel and Illyria to his third floor apartment, where he had to introduce them to Rebecca. The heiress smiled at them, asking if they wanted anything like a good hostess.

"Wesley hasn't told me much about you, Angel, I guess there hasn't been time to yet." Rebecca sat on the couch beside Wes, a hand on his knee as she looked at their guests. Illyria saw the possessive gesture and felt an unfamiliar pang of jealousy rise in her breast. Wes laid his hand gently over Rebecca's as they talked. The odd party was ill at ease with each other. Duncan eyed the vampire and his eerie companion with suspicion while Angel tried to put all the pieces together.

"I found Gunn's battle axe at the hotel after the battle." Angel began. He dreaded delving into the matter, especially when everything was relatively quiet in LA.

"Ah, yes, I resurrected in Vale's mansion and made my way to the alley, where I found him." A tomb's silence filled the room. Wes remembered seeing his friend's ashy face beneath the street lights. He squeezed Rebecca's hand before continuing.

"We managed to win the battle; Buffy and the Sunnydale crew pitched in." The vampire looked at his scuffed shoes as he spoke. Even after nearly six years, Buffy was still a sore spot that Angel didn't like to talk about.

"Did everyone make it through?" Wes asked, fear creeping into his blue eyes.

"Yes, Everyone but Gunn." Angel looked around the apartment where Wes had spent the last several months. It was a simple set up, with the kitchen and bathroom on either side of the front door. The open living room and dining area allowed for free movement across the dark, hard wood floor. A large Impressionist painting was the focal point of the living area. Angel looked out the large windows that must have let warm, morning sun in to illuminate the cozy space. A sliding partition hid the bed room. Wesley even had a place for a floor to ceiling book case stuffed with leather encased tomes.

"After you left I decided to go back to Angel Investigations. Spike, Illyria, Faith, Connor and sometimes Gwen, keep an eye on things." A strange, torn expression crossed the ex-Watcher's face as he listened. Angel watched his reaction. Wes' jaw clenched as his eyes took on a faraway look, seeming as if he could see the gang gathered around the Hyperion Hotel's cavernous lobby. Rebecca too watched Wes' troubled face.

"Then you have a handle on things in LA?" Wesley looked up after a moment.

"For the most part, yes." Angel answered. He wanted to have Wesley back on the team, but he also saw that he had found a life for himself apart from vampires, demons and Wolfram and Hart. The very lovely, young woman sitting beside him was obviously someone whom he cared for and the look in her green eyes spoke of loving him in return.

"Why have you come so far to see me, Angel?" Wesley leaned forward, a dark look making his eyes the color of an Atlantic storm.

"Wesley Wyndam-Pryce died before my eyes of a stab wound. Whoever this is could not be Wesley." Illyria stood up to her full height. Her strange blue eyes blazed with a fire to know the truth.

"I am who I say I am, Illyria." Wes' authoritative voice rang out in the open apartment.

"Prove to me you are the Wesley Wyndam-Pryce who died of Vale's blade." She demanded.

"I have nothing to prove to you, Old One." Wes' voice lowered in pitch, taking on a menacing tone.

"Illyria has a point, Wes, it wouldn't be the first time one of our own has been taken over." Angel laced his fingers together in his lap as he spoke. He looked Wes directly in the eyes.

"What do your senses tell you, Angel?" The Immortal returned his steady stare.

"I can't sense a difference, but I've been fooled before." Both were thinking of Cordelia, after she came back from the Higher Plane. She'd smelled the same, and sounded the same as before. There hadn't been any reason to suspect she'd been possessed.

"Angel, you'll just have to take my word for it then." Wes stood up to let them out. A faint, pink light had begun to appear on the horizon. The vampire and the warrior-goddess followed him to the front door of the apartment. Confused, Illyria longed to find out if it were truly Wesley that stood before her. She sensed the same sadness and tormented aura around him as he'd had before the night he'd asked her to lie to him. Quietly the pair left the third floor apartment. Both had a lot to think about. **Scene Break**


	10. Chapter 10

"Danny, what do you want for dinner?" the middle aged woman's voice was nasal and annoying. She pulled a string of keys a mile long from her huge, cow print purse as she walked out of Costco.

"I'll have Rosario fix it then." A light breeze blew the woman's platinum streaked auburn hair as she paid more attention to her cell phone than her surroundings. Behind her a Scurlock demon crept up to her. It's gauzy, white hand reached to take her from behind. Connor jumped the twenty feet from the roof of Costco to the cement below. Lightning fast, he pulled the demon away. In one swift motion it's head came off of the squat, round body. Material like spiderwebs clung to the young man's hands. At his feet the body convulsed, its arms thrashing as it kicked all three, thin, spindly legs. Black, tar-like stuff oozed out of the neck of the creature. Red lumps like chicken livers flowed out in nasty chunks.

Faith came out from around the building carrying a second Scurlock demon's head. Seven eyes surrounded it's head like a wreath peeking out of spiderwebs. The look on Faith's face was priceless. She was grossed out.

"If I never see another one of these things it'll be too soon." A shiver ran up her spine. Easily, Faith threw the demon's head into the trash bin behind the superstore.

"Me too." Connor wiped goo onto his jeans.

"Oh, Kid, that'll never wash out." Faith screwed up her face in disgust at the chunk of red stuff hanging off of Connor's hands.

"I know, I lose more clothes this way." He looked at his hands, then started toward Faith. "I'll rub it on you." The Slayer took off at top speed, Connor on her heels.

"Oh no you won't." She squealed like a middle school girl. In one bound, she lept to the top of the store and took off.

"You can't catch me." Faith shouted, looking behind her to see Connor at the edge of the building.

"Oh yes I can." He shouted back, laughing. Faith led a merry chase all the way across town, until they got back to the hotel. Laughing and shouting, Connor and Faith came in the back door where the kitchen had once received deliveries. The dark kitchen had been cleaned up, so they pair didn't trip over anything. Connor caught Faith by the arm and pulled her to him. Quickly, he pressed a kiss to her laughing lips.

"Eww, you're going to have to shower, you stink like a Scurlock demon." The Slayer pushed him off.

"Want to join me?" Connor asked, his voice lower as he nibbled on her ear. Faith's heart beat like a rock and roll drum at a Nickleback concert. She stammered over her words as she tried to answer.

Connor picked her up, Faith's legs wrapped around his waist as they kissed. Neither of them heard the television playing as they ascended the stairs to the second floor. Spike nearly spewed his Guinness when he saw the entangled pair. The platinum blonde vampire crowed like a rooster.

"That a way to go, Boy-O." Spike raised his beer in a toast to the young couple as he sat alone in the lobby.

**Scene Break**

"That was an imposter. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce is dead." Illyria pronounced as they left the apartment building. A light breeze blew her long, brown locks away from her thin face.

"He didn't smell like a demon to me. I believe that is Wesley." Angel walked down the sidewalk toward the Seine river. Cars and people moved along beside the pair as they wandered without really having a plan.

"Your senses have been dulled by too much time in that rat infested vessel." Angel had to give her that one, it had been a long crossing, especially since he'd only been out at night.

"This trip was a waste of time." Angel said, barely audible. Illyria followed Angel toward a hotel on the outskirts of the city where he took a room for the both of them. She planned her next move as she walked. Angel knew there was something going on in her mind, but he was mostly glad that the Old One was quiet. Spike was annoying, but it wasn't his choice to be a vampire. Illyria had set her continued existence into motion countless ages ago. All in all, the dark champion had rather have come to Paris alone.

**Scene Break**

"Rebecca, Wesley, I have your plane tickets." Amanda called out as she let herself into Wes' apartment using Duncan's spare keys. Wes came out from behind the screen that separated his bed from the living area in just his jeans. He began pulling on a button down shirt as he came to meet Amanda, glad that he'd felt her coming up the elevator shaft in time to pull on pants.

"Oops, I'm sorry, I thought you would already be up and packed." Amanda hid her face behind two plane tickets and began to back towards the door.

"Who is it, Wesley?" Rebecca's voice came from the bathroom near the front door. As she listened, Amanda heard the shower running.

"Good morning, Amanda, fresh tea is in the kitchen, help yourself." Wes pointed his thumb toward the small kitchen.

"I'm so sorry, thanks." Embarrassed, the lady Immortal went after a cup of tea. Wesley walked into the bathroom to answer Rebecca's question.

"It's Amanda here with our tickets to South America." The water shut off and he heard the young lady rustling around in the claw foot tub. The ex-Watcher wiped condensation from the mirror above the sink as Rebecca stepped out. A bright smile spread across her lovely face, the light in her eyes warming Wes to the core.

"When are we supposed to take off?" Short, red hair clung to the swan neck that Wes wanted to press kisses against. Rebecca pulled the huge bath towel around her lithe, athletic figure and ran her fingers through her red mop.

"I hadn't asked yet, Amanda barged in before I could get dressed properly." Wes pulled Rebecca's back against him, towel and all, and kissed her shoulder. The smell of lavender shampoo was heady and exciting, making him wish that there wasn't company in the kitchen so that he could carry Rebecca back to bed. She laid her hand along Wes' cheek as he worked his way up her neck.

"We'll never make our flight if you keep that up." She giggled. Wes groaned miserably and pulled away.

"It's a good thing that we have all the time in the world." He pressed a quick kiss on Rebecca's forehead. "I'll see about our travel arrangements." With that the Brit walked back out into the apartment. From across the street a pair of unearthly blue eyes watched through the shower mist. Keen ears picked up every word.

**Scene Break**

Jebediah Henderson sat watching the footage of the assassination he'd taken care of for Cliff Callabari. It had been a clean shot, killing both Rebecca Callabari and Wesley Wyndam-Pryce with one bullet. Henderson couldn't have planned it any better. He was pleased with that. What didn't please him was the fact that the bodies had disappeared from the morgue, and that Callabari hadn't come through with the second ten thousand dollars as he'd agreed to do. It wasn't the first time that Henderson had been stiffed out of money, probably wouldn't be the last either, but he wasn't about to put up with it. Cliff Callabari had skeletons the size of boats in his closet and Henderson aimed to hang them out on the yard arm. The assassin also aimed to find Rebecca Callabari as well as Wesley Wyndam-Pryce to put them six feet under. When he had his sights on them again they wouldn't disappear from the morgue again.

The phone rang in Henderson's cheap hotel room situated in a dark, cold area of Paris.

"Hello." The graveled voice grunted the one word as he snapped off the T.V. "Alright, thanks, your payment is in the mail." With that Henderson let the heavy, gray phone hit the rest. A sinister smile spread over his narrow, scruffy face. Quickly he shaved and dressed in a pair of kaki pants and a blue and white button down shirt rolled up at the sleeves. With a tan, canvas backpack Henderson looked just like any other tourist in his Chuck Taylor shoes and cheap sunglasses. His own mother wouldn't have recognized him.

**Scene Break**

"So we have our new identities, eleven million dollars in a Swiss account and two plane tickets to South America, what else do we need?" Rebecca asked as she filled a duffel bag with a handful of socks.

"You will need this." Duncan pulled a sword from the folds of his coat. The light slid down the well polished blade of the sixteenth century, French sword. It was light weight and just the right length for Rebecca.

"Oh, Duncan, it's exquisite, I don't know how to say thank you." Tears came to the young woman's green eyes as she took the sword reverently in her hands.

"Take good care of it and it will take good care of you. May you keep it for many centuries to come." The Scot laid his hand on Rebecca's shoulder. She pulled him into a hug.

"Hey, we have a going away dinner planned, Joe's waiting for us." Amanda chimed in, not wanting to get emotional. She'd taken a liking to the straight laced Brit in the past year.

"I haven't met him yet. Is Joe also an Immortal?" Rebecca asked innocently. Duncan and Amanda shared an all-knowing look before Duncan answered.

"No, he's mortal, but he knows about us." The Highlander didn't go into the particulars of who Joe Dawson was or how he knew about Immortals. Rebecca didn't press the subject.

**Scene Break**

"Thanks, keep the change." Henderson tipped the cabbie generously, then turned to walk down the street towards Joe's bar. Leisurely he strolled down the street looking in the windows of shops that sold everything from guitars to pastry as he went. Smells of all kinds assaulted his nostrils, some good and some not so good. The bar Henderson sought sat at the end of the street by it self. A blue, neon sign with one word in bold, cursive style advertised the blues bar that had taken off in the last few years. The bar always had great music and great food.

Henderson strolled down the side street that separated the bar from a coffee shop as if he didn't have a care in the world. It was a beautiful day with birds singing and tourists spending too much money on trinkets. He'd made sure that his quarry was inside and locked the front door. The tap on Duncan MacLeod's phone had tipped him off to the going away dinner. A dumpster sat behind the bar half full with boxes and bags of garbage. Several of the bar's employees were already at work preparing for the night ahead. No one noticed the thirty-something guy in an apron walk into the bar with a bag of garbage. The first thing the assassin did was to pull the fire alarm then, as the staff exited, he barred the kitchen doors. Joe, Methos, Duncan, Amanda, Wesley and Rebecca all stood at the front door trying to get out.

"Bon jour." Henderson greeted them in a southern accented French. He held a semiautomatic pistol in one hand and a grenade in the other. It surprised him when he saw four drawn swords gleaming in the low-beamed over head lights.

"What do you want with us?" Duncan demanded, tired of being surprised. Wesley pulled Rebecca close to him for protection. Methos and Amanda pulled to the back of MacLeod, helping a slower moving Joe Dawson behind the bar.

"Stay behind the bar, Rebecca." Wes' instincts told him that this wasn't going to end well. It wasn't the first time that he had been held hostage and he didn't like it. Only this time he wasn't powerless or defenseless. Wes stepped up beside Duncan, his sword drawn.

"Callabari sent you to finish the job that you botched a few days ago." What he had available to use against a grenade ran through the Brit's mind as he inched closer to the lanky figure with his back to the kitchen. Wes could conjure fireballs to throw, a throwing knife, and the sword mechanism up his sleeve, as well as hand to hand skills to draw from.

"Yep, he sure did. Seems his daughter went rouge on him. Callabari likes to have control, doesn't he Rebecca?" The dark eyed assassin turned his attention to a pair of green eyes peeking above the waist high bar. The young woman stood up to face the man, a brave expression on her face. Rebecca had been ordered around long enough. Her father had chosen her suitors, her schools, horseback riding, everything about her life had been chosen for her. Seeing Wesley again was the first thing that she'd done in open rebellion of her father. Henderson looked at the six people that stood before him. The ones he was most worried about was the one they called 'Mac'.

"I don't care if you set that off and kill me, death would be better than an empty life under my father's thumb." Rebecca came to stand beside Wesley, face to face with the assassin.

"Speak for yourself." Joe muttered as he and Methos worked on opening the locked front doors. Amanda smiled as she crouched near the door beside them. "I know first hand what one of those firecrackers can do." He patted one stiff leg. Duncan stood slightly behind Wes and took it all in.

Henderson began to feel like his back was to the wall. This job had gone all wrong from the start. He wasn't so sure that he shouldn't just cut and run. In his thirty-something years it was the first time that the Louisiana native had been afraid, truly afraid of dying. From behind Henderson heard the sound of the swinging kitchen doors creak. Before him the look of surprise only flicked across the faces of his prey. The assassin didn't have time to react before a vice-like hand grabbed his shoulder and wrenched him around to face his attacker. She wasn't at all what one would expect. She was about 5' 5" with a willowy, fragile figure. Henderson looked into her pale face and was startled by the woman's eerie, blue eyes. He'd seen the nearly white blue eyes of Husky dogs, but this was a cornflower blue that didn't allow for an pupil. Her eyes seemed to transfix Henderson.

"Illyria, why are you here?" Wesley's voice rang out in the silence of the bar. An even grimmer expression knitted the Brit's brows and made his blue eyes grayish and stormy.

"This being wishes to harm you." The Old One cocked her head to the side as she stood without moving behind Henderson. The assassin stood with his finger on the trigger of the semiautomatic handgun.

"This is nuts." Henderson pulled the trigger and a short, three round burst shattered the edgy quiet of the large room. Illyria leaned backwards in a gymnast's bridge to avoid the shots. She popped back up like a Pop Tart and pulled the gun from Henderson's grip. Bullet holes the size of Crayola markers marked the wall and kitchen doors.

"How the hell did you do that?" Perspiration dropped from Henderson's forehead like rain. With his attention solely on Illyria he didn't see or hear the front door of the establishment open. Joe, Methos, and Amanda all crept out into the sunlight. A tall, brooding sort of man stood beneath the building's overhang.

"Thanks, Friend." Joe shook the younger man's hand. The stranger just gave him a shy smile.

"I'm Angel, you're welcome." He spoke low, not wanting to be heard.

_**Back in the Bar**_

"Back off, you may be Gumby, but I know Wesley here isn't immune to a round in the chest." Henderson grabbed Rebecca by the hair and dragged her to a corner of the dimly lit room. His gravelly voice sounded forced. Even in an uncomfortable position as she was, Rebecca managed to elbow Henderson in the gut and run for Wesley's side. Henderson pulled the pin from the grenade and threw it at the redhead. The concussion of the blast knocked the two Immortals and Joe to the ground as they hovered near the door. Wes, Rebecca, Duncan, and Henderson all died immediately. Illyria dove for the kitchen and came out of it unscathed. Joe's bar was a total loss. The Watcher cursed as he heard the sirens coming toward the bar. It was going to be a mess to explain.

**Scene Break**


	11. Chapter 11

"Damn it, I just paid the bar off." Joe began to fume. Dazed, confused and covered in dirt the few remaining Immortals gathered around Joe to see if he was alright. The young man who'd opened the front door for them had disappeared. Some of Joe's employees that had ducked out the back when Illyria showed up had made their way to the front of the building. Fire crews, police and the press swarmed the street around the blues bar. Joe let paramedics get him into an ambulance headed to the hospital. Methos and Amanda faded into the background. Wes, Rebecca, and Duncan all reanimated and dragged themselves out.

_**The next day, at Duncan's apartment.**_

"Our passports, plane tickets and identity papers were in my bag, that blew up in the bar." Rebecca lamented. Wes pulled her against his side as they sat on Duncan's couch. "I don't know what to make of all this." The youngest Immortal sighed heavily. Her new, auburn hair lay in soft curls around her oval face. She let one of Wesley's turtlenecks swallow her like a security blanket.

"We'll get everything back on track in a few days." Amanda patted the young woman lightly on the shoulder and offered one of her megawatt smiles.

"Amanda is right, Rebecca, the explosion was only a setback. We all made it out alright and Joe was fully insured." Wes pulled Rebecca's hand out from beneath her chin, making her fall towards him. A moment before the elevator landed Wes, Rebecca and Amanda felt the Highlander's presence. He wore a tired, agitated expression as he leaned against the gray elevator wall. Carrying his black duster over one arm, Duncan walked slowly into the apartment.

"How's Joe?" Amanda asked, crossing the room to giver her Scot a peck on the cheek.

"He's upset, but fine." The Highlander looked as if he'd been raked over the coals. Wes felt a new wave of regret rise as he thought of the destruction of Joe's bar.

"Your friend, Illyria, is downstairs." Duncan pointed toward the elevator. Anger took the place of regret in Wesley. Illyria was the last person he wanted to see.

"Is Angel with her?" The Brit squeezed Rebecca's hand before getting to his feet.

"No, she's alone." Duncan's soulful, brown eyes studied the younger Immortal as a range of emotion crossed his scruffy features; anger, contempt, annoyance and puzzled.

"Do you want me to come with you, Wesley?" Rebecca stood up to follow him. She pursed her lips, her brows knitted.

"No, Rebecca, this isn't going to be pleasant." Wesley's Atlantic blue eyes were as hard as sapphires. Quickly, Wes sent the elevator to the bottom floor. Illyria stood in the dim lobby of the building. Her long hair hung around her face, it's blue streaks standing out against the dull brown. Cornflower blue eyes peered out eerily from Illyria's pale face as she waited for Wesley to raise the grate.

"What are you doing here, Illyria, there isn't anything to discuss." Wesley's jaw muscles worked as he tried to control his temper. The Old One cocked her head to one side as she studied him without blinking.

"You are not Wesley Wyndam-Pryce." Her glacial voice was low but carried across the room. Illyria stepped toward the elevator's entrance. Light above Wes let the shadows cover his face, but the goddess could see his eyes. She knew from Fred's memories that they had once looked on her form with love and appreciation. Now his eyes looked at her with disgust and scorn. Hate, Illyria understood it, she had felt it. All of the negative human emotions had become familiar to her since she'd taken over Winifred Burkle's form; hate, jealousy, discontent, loss, anger, all of them.

"I am not going to argue with you, Illyria. Leave." Wesley turned to go.

"Angel and the others, they mourned your death." The goddess continued. Her tone of voice didn't change. Wesley clenched his fists as he stopped, still facing the elevator's grate.

"Your guilt trip is wasted on me, Illyria. I made my choice to leave that night, there's no going back." Wesley wanted to whisk Rebecca off to South America as soon as possible. He wanted to be free of his past.

"The Wesley Wyndam-Pryce would not desert his allies." The tone of Illyria's voice had changed and Wes didn't like the sound of it.

"Leave me be, Old One, you have nothing to use against me anymore. I am free of you." The Brit's voice rang out loud and clear. There wasn't any anger in it, no scorn, only cold, clear truth. He turned to see Illyria wearing Fred's form. He saw the mask, the illusion of someone long gone.

"You find it so easy to leave the beings you call friends behind to soothe your own conscience." It was Illyria's voice again, coming from Fred's form.

"It is a matter of self preservation, something you know all about, Old One." Wes said just shy of a shout. "Leaving Angel and Faith behind is not easy." It was the only draw back of leaving LA.

"I am left hanging between worlds, not a mortal, not a true Old One anymore. This existence, this diminished state, what am I to do?" The question caught Wesley off guard. He never thought of Illyria as having any capacity for emotion.

"Determine what love is, Illyria, take whatever semblance, whatever remainder of Fred is left to you and be of some use to the human race." Wesley wished her well. He loved Fred, but he knew that she was no longer bound to this Earth. She was in his heart and always would be. He didn't even hate Illyria as much anymore. Wesley simply wished her the best and for her to find the answers to the questions he'd spent a lifetime hung up on.

"How do I make amends, Wesley?" The Old One asked, feeling at a loss for the answers to new questions. Wesley began to laugh. It was so simple.

"Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." That was all he said before getting back on the elevator and going upstairs. Illyria was left with a lot to ponder.

**Scene Break**

"What did she want, Wes?" Rebecca asked, a hint of fear in her young features. The scruffy Brit pulled her to his side and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Illyria had a final question for me." Wes smiled. He reflected on the scene for a moment, wondering what conclusion the goddess would come to on her own. It wasn't going to be easy. Angel and the rest weren't going to cut her any slack if she decided to take the straight and narrow road. Uphill was the only way to go.

"You're going to miss your friends aren't you." Rebecca laid her head over on Wes' shoulder as they sat down on Duncan's couch.

"For a while, yes, but we'll see each other again in a decade or two." Wes joked. It was ironic that he and Angel would be around long after LA lay in ruins. He suspected that Spike would still be as much of a thorn in Angel's side as he always had been. Maybe one day they could get together and look back on it and laugh.

"Oh, Duncan's friend called while you were downstairs, our new identity papers are ready, and we can reschedule our flight for tonight. We can be in Brazil by this time tomorrow." Rebecca's face lit up. She was as anxious to be gone as Wes was.

"Who's up for some bubbly?" Amanda asked as she pulled a chilled bottle of champagne from Wesley's refrigerator.

"Yes, by all means, let us celebrate." Wesley took Rebecca's hand and together with Duncan and Amanda toasted to a new life in sun and sands of Brazil. The only explosion they heard this time was the wine cork flying across the room.

**Scene Break**

Illyria walked back to the cheap hotel she and Angel had been staying in. The late spring air did little to clear her confusion. She had lost Wesley again. Before his first death in LA there had been a rise, a stirring of emotions that the Old One had never experienced. When Wesley died in her arms, Illyria had felt a sense of closure. Now she felt off balance again. There was so much to figure out and no one to help her. Having once been lord and master of the universe, Illyria would not have admitted that she felt the need for help. How did one treat others as they wanted to be treated? It had never occurred to the goddess on how she wanted to be treated. Once she had been revered as an all powerful, supreme being. Devotees threw themselves into volcanoes to show their devotion to her. Other Old Ones paid her homage by swearing allegiance to only her. In this world it was different. Power was sought after as a rare element, hard won and easily lost. Happiness too was sought after and rarely found. Illyria looked at the world around her on those Paris streets. She saw couples holding hands, smiling at each other with genuine care in their eyes. They were happy. Fred had felt happiness. She had felt it as a child, lost in her books. Happiness had sustained her during those five long years in Pylea. Angel, Gunn, her parents, and finally Wesley had all brought her happiness. Illyria could feel the soft remnants of those dulcet emotions from Fred's memories. Happiness was the emotion that the brainy Texan had wanted to feel most. She had made others happy and it had increased her own feelings of being accepted, protected, and loved. It was nearly dusk when Illyria found herself standing outside the hotel on the outskirts of the city. It was a dark, brick building that had once been beautiful, but was now run down. Paint chipped from the first and second floor window sills. The glass had become cloudy and dusty. Cracks divided the sidewalk at Illyria's feet. She knew how the building felt; a wandering derelict, of no use to anyone. But like the building, there was hope. Slowly, the Old One walked up the stairs to room two hundred seventeen, a dark room in the back. Angel lay stretched out on the bed, reading a book, but mostly thinking Illyria suspected. His eternal, brooding features could have been chiseled out of marble by one of the famous masters.

"How is Wesley?" Angel asked, laying the book on his chest. A dim, yellow lamp provided the only light in the room. Even so, the vampire could tell that something had upset Illyria.

"Wesley intends to leave tomorrow." The blue one responded, looking out the window, into the alley below. Angel just nodded and picked up his book. There was a slight crack in her voice.

"We'll see him again, eventually." Angel dog eared a page and laid the musty tome aside. Illyria shook her head. An aura of sadness and loss rolled off of the Old One like mist over the mountains. Angel debated with himself about asking her what was wrong. Inwardly groaning, the souled vampire asked. He'd have rather have a cross pushed into his eardrum, but he did it anyway.

"His absence leaves me at a loss." She looked down at her gloved hands. Angel nearly swallowed his fangs.

"At a loss for what, Illyria? The dark champion wrinkled his forehead. He stood up, his arms crossed over his black, dress shirt clad chest.

"His absence leaves me at a loss for a guide to this limbo, this existence between power and helplessness." The Old One extended her hand toward the window she peered out of.

"What brought on the philosophical questions?" Angel came to stand behind her.

"Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." Illyria repeated the phrase Wesley had said.

"The_ Golden Rule_." Angel ran his fingers trough his spiked hair. It was a conundrum. No one on team Angel wanted Illyria around. But if she was turning the corner, there was no one better to show her the straight and narrow.

**Scene Break**

Angel and Illyria landed at LAX just before midnight. They managed to evade ground security as they unloaded the cargo from the jet. Conditions in the cargo hold were less than first class. The vampire and the goddess were forced to hide in the dark, cramped hold for what seemed like a week. Angel was glad to fill his senses with the familiar smog of LA. He could smell Mexican food, pizza, car exhaust, and cheap perfume. Illyria saw the glittering facade around her. She saw sadness, loneliness and desperation in the human race. They were emotions that the goddess had become newly acquainted with. She didn't want to feel the burden of them anymore. If lifting someone else's pain meant that she could lift her own, Illyria was ready to try. What did she have to lose? How much was there to gain?

Angel flagged down a taxi outside the airport for them both. The cabbie eyed them suspiciously as the pair slid into the backseat. They were an unusual pair. A pair of cornflower blue eyes stared languidly out of the dirty cab window, while hazel eyes looked toward the road and the way back home. No conversation passed between them, no questions or comments, only standing silence.

**Scene Break**

"Hello, Spike, this is Angel, Illyria and I will be back at the hotel in twenty minutes." With a snap the conversation was over before Spike could ask how the trip had gone. Angel Investigations sat around the cavernous lobby when their peerless leader arrived. Connor and Faith pulled their hands apart as soon as Angel dropped his duffel bag on the registration desk. A new look of happiness and ease shone in the boy's eyes and pulled at the corners of his lips. Everyone else was pretty much the same as before Angel's trip to Paris.

"Good to see you, Angel, how was your trip?" Gwen strode in from the office behind the desk. Her long, wavy, brown locks sparked with freshly done streaks of red. A reddish brown leather vest barely covered the electric thief's ribs, and sure didn't meet with her hip hugging black jeans.

"We found Wesley." The insouled vampire didn't elaborate as he found a seat on the pale teal divan.

"Is he dead or what?" Faith asked, leaning forward in one of the lobby's chairs.

"Wesley's become an Immortal, he can't die unless he's beheaded." Illyria was the only one that didn't have a confused expression.

"So, he's a demon or something?" It was Connor's turn to further the discussion.

"No, Wesley's not a demon, just some kind of, I don't know, he's still got his soul." Angel finished as he leaned back, his fingers laced in his lap.

"Why aint the lad with you?" Spike piped up. His dark eyebrows arched as he strolled confidently in.

"Wesley has chosen a life without his compatriots." Illyria imparted, her voice sounding harsher and stronger than it should have been. The small crew looked at the familiar faces around them in confusion.

" 'es left us behind 'as he?" Spike shook his head, biting on his lower lip as he did.

"Wesley is still fighting the good fight, just like we have been." Angel informed them with a sound somewhere between a sigh and a low growl. The conversation broke up as everyone drifted off to do their own things. Angel took to the dark solace of his office. Almost on cue, Spike invaded that solace.

"So, mate, tell me what ole' Wes is doin' in Eiffel town?" The platinum vampire made himself at home in the chair opposite Angel. With a disinterested gaze Angel related the story to his annoying, thorn in the side, third degree sunburn of an associate.

"He's takin off to Brazil, raised hell down there a time or two myself." It was easier to say where Spike hadn't raised hell a time or two. "Best of luck to the SOB."

**Scene Break**


End file.
